Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies
by The Batchild
Summary: Asher Michaels and Amelia Shaw are hunters just like the Winchesters, but with a secret. Asher is a werewolf. As the four hunters team up to fight something none of them have faced before, will the boys be able to overlook that's she's a monster?
1. Chapter One: On the Road

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

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**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
****Chapter One: On the Road. **

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The hotel room smelled funny. Like someone had cooked a little too much curry in the kitchenette, and the pungent fumes had permeated every surface in the large room to the point where no amount of cleaning would ever get it out. But, regardless of the smell, the beds were comfortable and warm, and there was more than enough space for the two hunters renting the room to spread out their meagre possessions, and spread out they did; one would never know there were only two people in that room if they looked at the state it had dissolved into in the past couple weeks. It wasn't, by any means, the best room they had ever stayed in, but neither Asher Michaels nor Amelia Shaw had a history of complaining about accommodations. They had chosen the life as hunters of the supernatural after all, and welcomed all the things that came with it, including smelly hotel rooms.

Most of the time.

"Have you found anything yet?"

Sometimes there was nothing to welcome. Sometimes, hunting the boogieman was a slow business. Asher looked up from the newspaper she had spread out across the table and shook her head, her long and wavy black hair falling over her shoulders and across the pages. She flicked it back impatiently. They had been looking for any hint of a case for hours, but so far there hadn't been anything that seemed even remotely weird. Amelia was surfing the internet, as she was much better at navigating the waters of search engines and websites than her older companion, who preferred the printed word anyway. "What about you? Any luck?" Asher asked as she turned her blue eyes back to the smudgy grey words in front of her.

"No. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary anywhere. And there doesn't seem to be much in the past couple weeks either." Amelia sighed and fell backwards on the bed, moving her favourite chestnut cowboy hat so it covered her eyes. She sighed again. "I am finding a whole lot of crap about the Winchesters through. Judging by the amount of e-mails other hunters are sending out, they've been pretty busy."

"So?"

"So, it just seems kind of interesting that these brothers would be generating so much news about themselves, that's all. But all rumours of them being good hunters have definitely been confirmed. People either sing their praises or are jealous of their talent." Amelia closed her laptop with her foot and pushed herself off the bed, moving across the hotel room to the kitchenette with her usual light steps; she always seemed coiled and ready to attack at any moment. It was a good state for a hunter to be in, even if that hunter was still learning. She pushed her hat back over her blonde hair as she poured herself another mug full of coffee. "You met them once, didn't you?"

Asher nodded, the memory rising to the surface without much effort. "You were four, I think, and asleep at the time. Dean and his dad, John, came to the door looking for… for Austin." The hunter swallowed heavily and forced herself not to dwell on the image of the man who had raised and trained her and Amelia. "I was in the kitchen looking for something to eat. They weren't all that exciting."

"Wait, you didn't meet the other one? Sam?" Amelia took a drink from her mug before hopping up to sit on the small amount of counter space they had.

"No. He was about your age, maybe a year older, and asleep in the car. When they found out Austin wasn't home, they just left."

"What did they want?"

"I don't know. I don't think John wanted to talk to anyone by Austin, and he sure as hell wasn't going to share the information with a little girl, even if she did live with a hunter." Asher rose from the chair and moved to stand in front of Amelia, where she could refill her own mug of coffee. "We've got to find a case soon," she stated, subtly shifting the subject. She knew the course the conversation normally took when the Winchesters were brought up, and she didn't feel like talking about that right then. Or ever, but sometimes Amelia's stubbornness won out. "I'm going nuts just sitting around here."

Amelia smiled, as much for her friend's not-so-subtle avoidance of the taboo topic as it was for her impatience. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find something soon. And don't change the subject, Ash. We're going to have to deal with it sooner or later."

"Later, please."

"Asher, the Winchesters are going to come after you as soon as they pick up the trail. They were the first ones on the case after you killed that guy, and they're not the type to just let a murder go."

"It was just one guy. They've got bigger fish to fry."

"You're one of those fish. Like it or not." Amelia hopped off the counter, putting herself as close as she could get to the taller woman without actually touching her. "You may not want to acknowledge it, but you are a werewolf, Asher, and some hunter, if not the Winchesters, is going to come after you. And even if, by some miracle they _don't _pick up your trail, we are going to run into another hunter or group of hunters eventually and then all hell will break loose. They know your name, Ash." Amelia's tone had deepened until it was deadly serious. It was not a tone she took often. "Yes, you've only killed one man, but you did it as a werewolf and people have already noticed."

Asher huffed and shifted her weight to one foot. "Amelia," she said as she placed her coffee mug on the counter. "We will worry about that when we have to. As of right now, this moment, I'm more worried about getting a case and getting some food. You keeping looking and I am going to go out and get something for supper. What do you want?"

The only thing more impossible to fight than Amelia's stubbornness was Asher's. The young hunter sighed and consented to Asher's desire to ignore the inevitable. "Anything except Chinese," she said with an air of defeat.

"Pizza it is."

Asher dumped the rest of her cold coffee down the drain and grabbed her keys from the bedside table where she'd left them. She grabbed her handgun in its shoulder holster from the table as well and slipped it on, the gun settling just below her left breast. As she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her cropped leather jacket that fell to her hips, she patted the side to make sure her wallet and cell phone were in her pocket, and then headed out the door, leaving Amelia standing by the counter with a displeased look on her face. They had passed a pizza place on the way to the hotel two days before, so Asher hopped into the massive black pickup truck her and Amelia drove around the country and headed back the way they'd come. Once she had placed the order, she settled onto one of the stools and waited, her eyes trained on the truck outside and her ears listening to the sounds around her.

Her cell phone rang five minutes after she'd sat down. She flipped it open and pressed it to her ear, sparing only a glance at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

_"Hurry up and get back here, Ash. I think I've found something. I don't know how I missed it before."_

"Be there as soon as the pizza's ready." Without waiting for a reply she knew wouldn't come anyway, she hung up the phone and returned it to her pocket.

Twenty minutes later, she was back in the funny-smelling hotel room, staring at the screen of Amelia's laptop, reading an article from last week's paper in the town over with a slice of pepperoni and extra cheese pizza hanging out of her mouth; a bottle of beer fizzed within reach of her left hand. Amelia sat to her other side, quietly munching her food and waiting for the aha! moment she knew Asher would have.

"Priest goes mad out of nowhere and shoots his wife and kids and then turns the gun on himself," Asher paraphrased. She took a long drink from her beer and finished the slice of pizza before turning to Amelia. "You sure this is our department weird? This isn't just normal weird? People do do things like this to each other."

"I'm pretty sure it's our kind of weird."

Asher nodded once. "All right then. I guess we head out in the morning. It's too late now to get any information from anyone."

"I suppose."

"Amelia, this happened a week ago, in the next town over. Even if it was a demon or something, it's probably long gone. Unless it was a spirit or ghost…" Asher shook her head. "There hasn't been any other evidence of supernatural baddies in the area. We find out what did it, and if it's still around, we kill it." The dark-haired hunter sighed and grabbed another piece of pizza from the box. "This is the best we've got… Damn it, but it's been slow lately."

Amelia rolled her eyes and closed the laptop, almost on Asher's fingers. "Stop complaining."

"Stop being bitter just because I won't get freaked out about the possibility of being hunted." Asher finished the last slice of pizza in four large bites and then climbed into bed. "Just chill out for once Amelia. Worry about it when I worry about it. You are such a worrywart."

"You never worry about anything," Amelia muttered as she closed the light and climbed into her own bed.

Asher's nonchalant attitude towards her situation may have fooled Amelia and everyone else who knew her secret, but it wasn't the whole truth. She was, in fact, very worried about becoming prey to some hunter, and that night she dreamed of being chased, of being shot at, and being tortured with silver weapons. She dreamed of being forever bound with the silver chains that kept her from running off on a killing rampage every month, the metal burning her skin continuously, the wounds never healing, her skin remaining red and raw. She dreamed of killing and becoming the monster she should have become a long time ago. She woke once in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat and still able to taste the blood from her dream Thankfully, Amelia was a heavy sleeper, so the startled gasp which escaped Asher's lips didn't wake her. When she fell back asleep, it was dreamless. She was quite terrified for herself, but she possessed the ability to push that worry to the background and concentrate on getting the bad guy. She did appreciate Amelia's worrying, but it got in the way more often than not.

Around five in the morning, Asher climbed out of bed, grabbed her clothes, woke Amelia by pulling off her blankets as she walked by, and headed into the bathroom like the bad dreams had never occured. Showered, brushed and dressed, she set about the hotel room, packing her large duffel with her clothes and weapons that had made it out and about. Amelia emerged from a steaming bathroom a short time later and began performing the same task, albeit a little more slowly than Asher. Guess who was more functional in the morning. They met a blurry-eyed clerk at the desk downstairs and checked out. The last stop before they hit the highway was a coffee shop where they stocked up on the hot, rejuvenating liquid and various baked goods to get them through the drive.

"Ash, are you at _all _worried about being hunted?" Amelia asked as the monotony of the highway took over.

Asher sighed and spent more time than required chewing her muffin. "Of course I am, but I don't see any point in freaking out about it until I have to. Why are _you _so worried about it?"

"Aside from the obvious fear of losing my best friend?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know you'd miss me if I died, but you'd move on eventually. Austin and I have trained you well and we've on from Austin's death." For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Asher had to fight off images of her surrogate father and face the fact that she hadn't moved on as well as she kept telling herself she had.

It was a moment before Amelia answered, and Asher was sure it was because she was trying not to think to hard about Austin either. "You saved me," she said after a moment. "Who knows where I could have ended up wandering down that road all bloody and whatever. You found me and took me in, you and Austin gave me a life, and I have yet to repay that favour."

"So you see getting freaked out about being hunted as a werewolf as repayment for that? You don't have to repay me for taking you to Austin's. For all you know, you would have ended up with a normal life if I hadn't found you."

"Or I could have ended up as road kill, or attacked by animals, or picked up by some murderer…"

"Okay, okay, enough with the melodrama." Asher sighed and took a long drink from her still-hot coffee. "You're welcome for saving your life, but you don't have to repay me. It was an impulsive decision and impulsivity doesn't usually warrant a reward. You don't have to freak out about me being hunted, either. At least, not until you have to worry. You'll give yourself grey hair if you keep it up."

Amelia tried to sigh intolerantly, but the gesture was interrupted by laughter. As the laughter escalated, Amelia pulled her cowboy hat—a black one today—down over her face, covering her steadily reddening cheeks and muffling the hyena-like noise she made when she laughed too hard. Asher chuckled quietly in the driver's seat, not as prone to outright guffawing. As the moment passed and Amelia's hat made it back onto her head, the mood in the cab of the truck settled back on tense; moments of levity were few and far between. The only other time during the drive that the girls exchanged words was when they passed a road-side diner and saw a sleek, black muscle car sitting out front. Amelia immediately identified it as the Winchesters' Impala, though how she knew it was their care was anyone's guess.

"Just chill Amelia, before you force me to knock you unconscious."

"I bet you they're on the same case as us."

"So? Just relax."

But there was no relaxing for Amelia, and as they drove, Asher became less and less relaxed. As they passed the diner, two young men exited the diner and climbed into the Impala and pulled out onto the highway behind the truck. The Impala didn't disappear as they drove into the parking lot of a motel either, although the Winchester boys got out and headed into the office first, so apparently they didn't recognize the truck or the women in the cab, or they hadn't noticed. Either would be a bonus.

"If traveling with a werewolf is so detrimental to your health, why don't you stop doing it?" Asher snapped as Amelia opened her mouth to make some other comment once they had parked and were standing at the back of the truck.

The shorter hunter froze with one hand on her duffel. "I didn't say it was detrimental to my health."

Asher hoisted her duffel out of the bed of her truck and slung it onto her shoulder. "Well clearly you're not enjoying it, so let's just get this job over with so you can move on with your life, okay?"

Once they had procured a room, they fished two outfits off the hangers in the backseat of the truck and changed themselves into the white and black pant suits that made them look like Agent Amy Williams and Agent Naomi Black. As they tucked their fake IDs and weapons into their respective pockets, they headed back out to the truck and climbed into the cab. The Impala was still in its parking spot a few spaces away and Asher breathed a silent sigh of relief. They were moving faster than the Winchesters which meant they might pull this off without meeting up with them. The girls remained in silence as they entered the city proper, destined for the address where the murder-suicide had taken place.

"I'm sorry I get so worried," Amelia said as Asher parked the truck around the corner from the house.

"And I'm sorry I said you should leave." They exchanged a small smile before hopping down to the ground, the heels of their boots clicking along the pavement. "I hate these boots," Asher groaned.

"Maybe if you wore shoes made for women on a regular basis, they wouldn't be so uncomfortable."

Asher resisted the urge to give her hunting partner the finger and settled for a whispered "Fuck you" as they approached the empty house with the yellow crime scene tape still semi-attached to the doorway. It flapped in the wind, snapping almost angrily against the window beside the door. As they ascended onto the porch, a frail-looking woman appeared out of nowhere in the yard next door, leaning on her side of the fence.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice rough and bird-like.

"Possibly," Asher said, digging her badge out of her pocket and flashing it expertly at the woman's thick glasses. "I'm Agent Black and this is my partner, Agent Williams. What can you tell us about what happened here last week?"

"The man went crazy and shot his wife and three kids in the face before shooting himself. What else is there to know?" She peered over the rim of her glasses at them, probably trying to decide if they actually looked like federal agents, and if they did, why exactly the FBI would be interested in this particular case. Apparently, she reached a satisfactory conclusion and regarded the women with a glance that was a little less suspicious than before.

Amelia stepped forward, her face taking on the caring and compassionate expression Asher had never quite mastered. All the really sensitive people work fell to Amelia, who had better communication skills and was just generally a nicer person when it came to strangers. "Was there anything in the man's previous behaviour to indicate he might do something like this?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest as if to ward off the chill from the fall breeze.

"Not really. He was a priest at the church I go to every Sunday, although I probably won't go there anymore, and he always seemed like a nice man. I guess even the best of them can go bad." The woman sighed and ran her bony fingers along the top of the fence. "I did notice something odd about him the day before it happened, though." She dropped her eyes to the grass and shook her head slowly. "He spoke differently. He was rude."

"And that was new?"

"I just said it was different behaviour." She sighed again. "Before he'd always been so polite to everyone," she breathed, her voice taking on a whimsical quality.

"Did you notice anything strange about his face? Like his eyes?"

The woman's head snapped up. one eyebrow raised higher than the other. "What would that have to do with anything? And no, I didn't. He looked the same, sounded the same, but he wasn't the same."

Amelia nodded once. "Thank you for your time." She turned on her heel and crossed the lawn to stand in front of Asher. "It definitely sounds like demonic possession," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "But we should get inside the house and see if we can find anything. Maybe talk to the other neighbours and the people he worked with at the church."

"I agree, but right now, I think we have another problem," Asher said tiredly.

She reluctantly pointed across the road to where two recognizable figures had just appeared, knowing full well what Amelia's reaction would be. Instead of letting her freak out however, Asher strode confidently across the lawn before she could say anything and stood with her arms crossed under her chest watching as the Winchesters cross the street, dressed identically in black suits, white shirts and black ties. Asher recognized the shorter of the two as Dean Winchester, which meant the other one had to be Sam, since he wasn't old enough to be Dean's father, and the gossip mill said Daddy Winchester didn't hunt with his boys anyway. Both of them looked mighty uncomfortable in the suits and neither looked too happy about running into other hunters either.

Dean reached the lawn first and approached Asher. "Who are you?" he asked, tone just short of a demand.

"Agent Naomi Black, what about you?" she snapped, well aware of the woman next door still watching them.

Dean's eyes flicked over her shoulder to the woman before he answered, "Agent Perry."

They stared at each other for a tense minute, Sam shifting uncomfortably behind Dean and Amelia watching a couple of squirrels play in one corner of the lawn, probably trying not to grab Asher by the wrist and drag her away from the potential danger. "We should go somewhere else and talk about the 'case'," Asher finally said, her eyes narrowing dangerously, the blue of her irises lightening as it always did when she was mad.

"I agree."

As a group, the four hunters headed around the corner to where Asher had parked the truck and where Dean had evidently parked the Impala. They stood beside the truck, trying to look as if what was happening was a normal occurrence, but it was early in the day and there was no one around, so the FBI-talk dissolved into normal speech, which was a pretty careless move, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone seemed to intent on finding out who the hell the others were and what the hell they were doing at the same crime scene.

"You two are hunters, right?" Dean demanded almost before they'd stopped walking.

"And if we are?"

Sam stepped forward, stopping his brother's obviously angry reply. "We can work together on this case," he offered. Asher knew instantly that he was the peacekeeper of the two, just as Amelia usually was for their team.

"We're hunters," Asher confirmed. She regarded the brothers for a moment before saying, "I'm Asher Michaels and this is Amelia Shaw."

"Sam and Dean Winchester," the tall young man said, his shoulders dropping as most of the tension evaporated. Dean took a step away from his brother, and turned his back to the conversation, a look on his face that said he was trying to place something in his mind. "Do you think this was demonic possession as well?" Sam asked, trying to remove the remaining tension as quickly as he could.

Asher nodded. "The woman Amelia talked to said the man—"

"Philip Huxley."

She consented to Sam's injection of the name. "That Philip Huxley started acting out of character the day before—'"

"You're the werewolf!" Dean suddenly yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Asher.

Sam shot a confused look at his brother and then at the girls and then recognition clicked somewhere behind his hazel eyes. Amelia stepped up beside Asher and glared at the Winchesters and Asher took an involuntary step backwards, pressing her back against the side of her truck. Her hand subconsciously went to her gun, but by the time she thought to withdraw it, Dean was already readying his weapon to shoot her in the heart and his eyes were narrowed in anger. Amelia shifted so she was between the gun and her friend's chest at the same time Sam grabbed Dean's wrist to divert the direction of fire.

"Put the gun away, Dean," Sam said.

"She's a werewolf Sam!"

"I _told _you this would happen," Amelia hissed under her breath.

"We don't have to kill her right this second. The lunar cycle just started, Dean. She's not going to change for a month."

"So we should get let her go on a rampage in a month then? And kill God knows how many people?" Dean may have been yelling at his brother, but the gun was still aimed forward, although it was now pointing at the ground instead of Asher's chest. Don't think that made her feel any better though.

"She won't go on a rampage in a month!" Amelia barked.

Asher tried to think of a way she could get to the door of her truck without attracting too much attention, but nothing was coming to her. She also tried to think of a way to get out of this mess without Amelia having to explain their cunning solution to keep her from killing whenever the moon was full, as it wasn't something she wanted to get out there; knowledge of the solution begged knowledge of the problem, and she really wasn't willing to share that with anyone voluntarily, especially not other hunters who she knew would have the same reaction Dean was having.

"Yes she will! She's a werewolf!"

"We found a way to keep that from happening!"

The Winchesters stared at the girls like they had both sprouted an extra head. Asher used the moment of shock to open the passenger door of the truck and jump inside, pulling Amelia with her as she moved. She got the truck going as quickly as she could and they sped back to the motel, knowing full well the Impala would be right behind them.

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**Author's Note.**

So yeah, I'm starting another fic. Give me a break. I just love **Supernatural **so much and this one just came to me. Seriously, I had all the preliminary planning done in like, a day. Or less. So, I couldn't really keep this one inside for too long. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this beginning.

For the record, I'm making a lot of stuff up and expanding on the lore from the show, since they don't go into nitty-gritty details a lot, I've got some space. If I make a mistake, let me know so I can fix it, okay?

Also, the chapters for this fic are probably going to be shorter, but there will be a lot. Ten per book. And right now, there are five planned books. And don't worry, there will be plenty of explanation on all fronts as I go along.

**Next Chapter: Can't Get Away That Easily. **


	2. Chapter Two: Can't Get Away That Easily

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

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**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
****Chapter Two: Can't Get Away That Easily. **

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"You seemed awfully eager to gank that girl, Dean."

"She's a werewolf, Sam. We kill her kind for a _living_."

"But I've never seen you eager to kill a human before. And don't tell me she's not human, because you know as well as I do that three-quarters of the time, she's just like you and me."

Dean sighed and sat back in his seat as he drove. He knew Sam was right, but letting that woman—Asher—get away still went against everything his father had taught him. You kill the monsters. After the girls had left the house, Sam and Dean had argued about whether or not to follow them or finish up at the crime scene first. They'd picked the case. It had taken Sam a while to convince Dean that the current case, dead as it was, was more important than a werewolf who wasn't immediately dangerous, but he'd done it eventually. When Sam and Dean had made it back to the motel, the massive black pick-up was no where to be seen and the owner said the girls had checked out about half an hour ago. Using the excuse that Asher and Amelia were their sisters and there'd been some miscommunication about the location where they were supposed to be meeting, Sam had found out from said owner that the girls had drive east; if Dean had tried that, the woman behind the counter probably would have called the police.

"Let's just find them, okay? Maybe they picked up the trail of the demon."

The priest they'd been investigating had indeed been possessed by a demon—the boys had found traces of sulphur by one of the windows—but the thing was long gone and no one they'd talked to had seen any of the classic markers of a demonic presence in the area. So, they'd left. And decided to follow the weird hunters to see if they had any information.

"Whatever. Just don't attack her again."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. There was something he wasn't telling Sam, and that was that he knew Asher. He couldn't exactly place her face in his mind, but he knew he knew her. He had met her before, a long time ago. "I don't think we should just let her go, Sammy. I think she's the werewolf who killed that guy a few months back, and we picked up the trail that led to nowhere? Who knows what else she's done?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You mean the man who was growing pot in the basement?" he asked, voice mimicking the confusion on his face.

"No, the father of three who didn't even have a parking ticket in his record. That other guy was killed by that shapeshifter pretending to be a werewolf."

"Oh. Still, we never found any evidence that the mystery wolf killed anyone else, and we never found her. And that other girl—Amelia?—she said they'd found a way to keep Asher from changing or from killing people anyway. I think we should listen to what they have to say." Sam fixed his best pleading gaze on his brother. "We should at least give them a chance."

Dean sighed again, although this time, it was a lot less serious. Sam was right, again, but that didn't mean Dean had to like the idea, although part of him wanted to talk to the girls and see if he could finally place Asher's face. It was like an itch you couldn't scratch, or a song you couldn't remember the name of, and it would be satisfied until Dean remembered where he had met her. "Fine. When we find them, we'll see if they have any information about the demon and ask what they do to keep the werewolf on a leash and if it's a load of crap, which is probably will be, we gank her." Dean paused and mentally mulled over the harshness of his words.

"What's if your problem with her?" Sam asked after a moment.

_What is my problem with her? _"She's a hunter," he started. "And a werewolf. You can't be the good guy and the monster, Sammy… It just doesn't work that way."

"So what? You're just going to shoot her?" Sam's voice took on an accusing tone.

Dean was silent for a minute, chewing over his next words. Everything in his teaching told him to say yes, but there was a fairly large part of him that wanted to say no, that Asher Michaels was a good person, a hunter and deserved to live. And it wasn't just because he wanted to figure out where he knew her from. Would he be able to just shoot her without any provocation? "I don't know, Sam," he said finally. "This is a weird situation. Even for us."

Sam turned in his seat so he could fix the full force of his stare on Dean. "I get that," he said. "And I get that you don't like the fact she's a werewolf and a hunter, but that can't be the only thing making you hate her. Dean, I've never seen you hate someone so much without even knowing who they were or anything about them, Yellow Eyes being the exception of course, so what is it about her? Do you not like her haircut or something?"

Dean gave his brother a "what the hell?" look and then rolled his eyes. _Okay, fine. I guess I have to tell him. _"I know her."

"What? Wait, do you know her or do you _know her _know her?"

Dean shot his brother a disbelieving look but it didn't last that long; it was, after all, an accurate assumption to make from his statement. Dean did have a history, after all. "I just know her, but I don't know where from. I can't remember where or when I met her, but I know I've seen her before."

"Well, she is a hunter, presumably raised by a hunter—"

It was like a light bulb in his brain. "Sammy, do you remember Austin Smith?"

The younger Winchester stared ahead for a moment as he ran through his mental catalogue of hunters. After a moment, he seemed to find something. "He had the big dogs he took hunting, right? The German Shepards or whatever they were. And his house was almost as full of books as Bobby's, and he adopted those… two…" Sam looked at Dean, eyes wide with recognition.

"Yeah. He adopted those two girls. Dad thought he was crazy for taking them on, but Austin did it anyway and he trained them and, according to Dad, they became quite good."

"But that doesn't explain how you met Asher before. We never worked with Austin and the girls."

"You didn't." Dean shifted around in his seat for a moment. "The first time I saw her, it was when Dad was hunting a Wendigo when you were four I think. Dad needed a book or something and wanted to talk to Austin about some gun or something, but he was out hunting at the time. Asher, I guess it was, answered the door with a gun in her hand and nearly shot Dad and I before we identified ourselves as hunters. She was quite obviously a hunter. We left when she told us Austin wasn't home and it was after we drove away Dad told me who she was and what an idiot he thought Austin was being."

Sam nodded as if he understood and then asked, "Why wasn't I with you and Dad?"

"You were asleep in the car and Dad didn't want to wake you because you hadn't slept in a while." There was a note of bitterness in Dean's voice; he had long ago convinced himself that Sam was John, their father's, favourite.

"Oh. Okay, so you said the first time. Was there a second time?"

"I think so… Dad and Austin ended up chasing the same demon and we were chasing it through the woods. Asher was up in a tree or something and dropped a bucket of holy water and salt on the thing and then dropped down and tackled it. She nearly landed on me and then she almost shot me when I came through the bush."

Sam stifled a laugh. "Huh. You'd think she'd remember you."

"Well, it was dark and her and Austin were gone before Dad and I."

Sam nodded, and didn't bother asking where he had been. He probably had been at the motel room, anyway. In the earlier days, Sam had never gone on a hunt. In fact, he hadn't even known the monsters were real for a large portion of his life. "Okay, well, what does this have to do with why you hate her?" he asked after a moment. "Is it because she had essentially the same life we did and she turned into a monster? Are you afraid that you could turn into a monster?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe." As Dean thought about it, he realized he didn't really know why he hated her. He just did. Yes, a large part of it was the hunter/werewolf issue, but that wasn't all. Most of it was just… "I really don't know, Sammy. I just don't like her. I think she's bad news. If I'm remembering her right, she's always been a little hot-headed and that combined with being a werewolf can't be a good thing."

"When did she get bitten?"

"I don't know, but her temper can not have improved."

For a while after that, the Winchester brothers drove in relative silence. The only noises were Dean's classic rock blaring through the speakers and the roar of the Impala's engine. Eventually the strip of highway they were driving on was interrupted by a small town, and it was then Dean proclaimed it was time for lunch, and Sam's grumbling stomach agreed for him. They managed to locate a small café with internet access and a decent looking menu which included Dean's favourite food, cheeseburgers, and a selection of "healthier" items for the more conscious Sam. They picked a booth away from the other customers, not that there were too many of them, but when you were talking about the supernatural world, you didn't want anyone to overhear, lest they think you were crazy. They hunkered down in the booth and waited for the waitress to finish refilling coffees so she could come over and take their order.

While Dean inhaled his first cheeseburger and ordered a second one, Sam plugged in to the internet and checked the newspapers for the various towns in the area for any sign of demonic possession or anything else bizarre enough to need their attention. The younger brother was only halfway through his chicken Caesar salad by the time Dean had finished his second cheeseburger and started on his fries, but he had stumbled across something that wasn't the demon, but it didn't sound like anything they'd encountered before either.

"Look at this," he said excitedly, spinning his laptop around so his brother could see the screen. "What does this sound like to you?" Sam's voice betrayed the fact that he already had some ideas floating around his head.

Dean read over the information quickly. "Mutilated bodies and pieces of bodies showing up all over town… That sounds like zombies to me. But for the amount of carnage, there would have to be more than one zombie. Have you ever seen more than one zombie in the same place?" he asked as he shoved some more deep-fried potatoes into his mouth.

"Not unless they were raised by some spell. Do you think there could by a witch or someone behind this?"

"I think there's definitely someone behind this, but most people can only raise two or three zombies at once. At least, I've never seen anyone raise more. There would have to be at least five zombies to do this amount of damage I think. They're finding six or seven bodies at a time." Dean sat back in the booth and stared across at his brother. "This isn't going to turn out well, is it?"

"Does it ever?"

"No." Dean sighed and leaned forward, propping himself up with his forearms on the table. "Well, if Asher and Amelia are as good as they think they are or as good as Dad seemed to think they were going to turn out, then they'll pick this up soon, if they haven't already. They'll be in whatever city this is taking place in." He paused to look at the computer screen again, searching for the location. "Yeah, I can't pronounce that, but the girls will be there, and if we're so bent on talking to them about the demon and their werewolf leash, this will be the way to do it. Plus we get to kick some zombie ass in the process."

One side of Sam's mouth rose in the grin he got when he couldn't believe the words coming out of Dean's mouth. "Yeah," he said, "because that's the big picture. Kicking zombie ass."

"You bet it is."

Twenty or so minutes later, Sam and Dean had finished their food and were back on the road, heading east. Sam had his laptop open, going over the articles which he had saved, and trying to figure out what could be behind the amount of zombies in the town with the unpronounceable name and Dean was singing along with his music under his breath as he did some times when he was bored. It was a fairly typical situation, but as the highway dragged on through the middle of nowhere, they lapsed into complete silence, Sam absorbed with his task and Dean with staring at the road. That is, they sat in silence until Sam decided to break it with some more information he'd uncovered.

"There's one guy who seems to be in all the pictures from the newspaper stories," he said.

Dean snapped out of the trance he'd settled into. "Yeah? You think he's the one who's raising the zombies?"

"It's possible."

"Got a name?"

"Not yet, and there doesn't seem to be anything in the paper. I guess we'll have to wait until we get to Kl… this place in Pennsylvania to ask around and see if anyone knows him."

"Guess so."

As the conversation died away, Sam slipped farther into his seat and closed his eyes, his laptop closed and tucked safely away in his bag. Dean drove on, fighting the temptation to turn the music up really loud or pull something else that would wake his brother up. When he had finally overcome that urge, he instead concentrated on decideding who and what they would dress up as to gather information once they got to the city with the unpronouncable name. The sun began to sink lower as they headed down the highway and before long Dean's stomach was grumbling again and began looking for some place to stop. Any place that had beer and something meaty would do. It took a while, but a small place that looked decent enough finally emerged out of the highway shadows and Dean pulled into the parking lot, Sam waking up when the car stopped moving.

"Hey, does that truck look familiar to you?" Dean asked once Sam had regained consciousness and could focus on something other than keeping his eyes open.

Sam peered out the front window and brushed his hair off his face. "Yeah..." He turned to look at the restaurant, and sure enough there were Asher and Amelia, sitting by the window with plates of food in between them. "What is with Amelia and cowboy hats? That one's different than the black one she was wearing before."

"Who knows? Let's just go in and talk to them so we can get this over with."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So there doesn't seem to be much interest in this fic so far, but that's okay. I'll keep writing anyway. Mostly for Shauna, whom I'm afraid will kill me in my sleep if I stop. (stupid grin) Plus, I quite like what I have planned with this fic, and like I said before, my brain is so full of **Supernatural** that this is just coming to me. So please enjoy and review!

Bonus points if anyone can pick the place in Pennsylvania that they're going to.

Oh, and I apologize for the chapter being shorter than the last one. There's not going to be a set length on these ones.

**Next Chapter: Holy Shit. **


	3. Chapter Three: Holy Shit

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
****Chapter Three: Holy Shit. **

* * *

"Holy shit," Asher muttered as she looked out the window, her eyes narrowed as she peered into the semi-darkness of the parking lot. Before Amelia could discern what her lupine-infused companion was seeing that made her so uncomfortable, Asher set her teeth and turned back into the restaurant, her face twisted in anger. "I can't believe those damn Winchesters caught up to us already. I told you we shouldn't have stopped. We should have just grabbed some snacks from that gas station and kept driving."

"Well, it's too late for that now," Amelia stated, taking another bite of her pie. "Besides I hate just eating chips and crap. I told you to watch out for them, and now that they've found us and caught up with us, I'm pretty sure they're not just going to let us go. I guess the best choice would be just to see what they want."

"The hell that's the best idea." Asher drained her glass of diet coke and glared out the window. "What do you expect me to do? Let him come in here and shoot me?" she demanded, her voice taking on an alarmingly high pitch. When Amelia shrugged in answer, Asher ran her fingers back through her black hair and pulled it into a ponytail at the base of her skull, securing it in place with the elastic she kept around her wrist at all times. "Well, we can't exactly escape now…" She looked around the diner and, not finding another exit, she sighed. "I suppose you're right. We should just listen to what they have to say." The irate hunter leaned across the table and pointed an authoritative finger at her friend. "But if that ape Dean pulls a gun on me, I will bite his head off, and I'm not talking figuratively."

"Yeah, yeah." Amelia shoved Asher's finger back in her face, causing the older woman to sit back on her side of the table, arms crossed over her chest. "Just put the brakes on there, Wolfy. They're coming in now." Amelia swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and watched the Winchesters cross the small diner to their booth. In particular, she was watching Dean's hands and making sure they didn't venture anywhere near his belt where he would be keeping his gun. She may have pulled off an "I told you so", but she was still freaked out.

"Why, hello there girls," Dean said as he slid into the booth beside Amelia. His eyes never left Asher and there was a little-less-than-pleased expression on his face.

Asher caught the warning look the younger Winchester shot his brother as he slid into the booth beside her. "Hi," he said as he looked at Asher.

The werewolf-hunter ignored Sam and turned her fiery gaze on Dean. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting some food, what about you?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, her voice taking on more than a hint of a growl. "Did you follow us here? Are you going to try and shoot me again?" Her eyes narrowed and something vaguely canine entered her features.

Dean's eyes also narrowed, and he leaned on the table. "Why would we follow you?"

"Dean—"

"No Sam, I want to hear why she thinks she's so important that we would chase her across the country."

Asher snarled and shifted closer to the table. She knew she was giving into his taunting, but at that moment, she didn't care; at that moment, she just wanted to hurt him. Sam grabbed Asher's arm and gave her the same warning look he'd given Dean as he pulled her back into her seat. Amelia had also moved forward, but her actions were precursor to jumping in front of a leaping Asher and keeping her from attacking Dean, who was in all fairness, provoking someone he knew had a temper. For a long moment, the four of them sat at the table, staring at one another, Sam holding Asher back and everyone tensed to stop the hunter from attacking the man across the table.

"Hey!" one of the waitresses yelled at them from behind the counter. "I don't want any fighting in here. Take it outside, will ya?"

Amelia all but shoved Dean out of the booth as she got to her feet. "Sounds like a good idea to me," she admitted, more than a little peeved she seemed incapable of preventing a throw-down.

Sam slid out of the booth and grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him toward the door, giving Amelia an apologetic look as he went. The young woman followed his example and grabbed Asher's arm to lead her outside, dropping some money on the table as they left the diner and waving at the young girl who had served them. In the fading sunlight in the parking lot, Dean and Asher stood a few feet away from each other, staring with bodies tense and coiled, ready to attack and ready to counter whoever moved first. Sam was a little bit behind Dean, an uneasy look on his face. Amelia echoed the look, but neither of the more passive hunters could stop a fight from happening between Asher and Dean and they both knew it. She didn't know anything about Dean, but she had a feeling he was just as stubborn as Asher or, if it was possible, even more so.

"Well go ahead, Dean. Shoot me," Asher taunted. "That's what you want to do isn't it?"

"Dean, we agreed we'd just talk," Sam interjected.

"Shut up Bambi," Asher growled, directing her ire to Sam for the first time. "The big kids are playing."

Amelia's eyes widened as she heard the shift in her best friend's voice. She knew that shift very well, but it was too early for Asher to change. The lunar cycle had just begun; she looked up at the rising moon, still pale and translucent in the light of the setting sun. It was a tiny sliver. She shouldn't be changing. Amelia looked back at Asher and moved so her face was visible. Sure enough, her eyes had lightened and her cheeks were becoming hollow as her jaw mutated to accommodate a set of canine teeth. _No, no, no… This can't be happening yet! _Without a second thought, Amelia pulled the silver knife she always kept on her person out of the sheath on her thigh and lunged forward, putting herself between Asher and Dean.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Dean asked, his voice mirroring the panic on his face. His gun was in his hand, as was Sam's. The younger brother had moved forward to stand beside Dean.

"She's changing," Amelia informed them with panic in her voice. She turned her attention back to Asher. "Ash, Ash, focus! Focus on my voice, okay? You can't change yet, it's too early," she said, tears bubbling up in her eyes. Talking was probably not going to work; she didn't want to hurt her adopted sister. "You can't. Come on girl, I don't want to hurt you…" She took a step forward, the knife held in a way perfect for slashing without killing. "Asher, come on!"

The half-wolf snarled and shook her head, trying to fight off the change.

"I'm sorry, Ash." Realizing Asher wasn't going to be able to fight it off, Amelia advanced, ducked under a swing from the wolf and slashed the silver blade at her chest, cutting through the black, long-sleeved shirt and into her flesh, which hissed as the metal hit it. "Sorry," she breathed as she slashed again. "Come on Asher…" Amelia slashed one more time and then backed up so she could throw a powerful kick at her friend's gut and send her flying backwards where she hit the pavement and skidded, a trail of blood appearing beneath her. Leaving Sam and Dean standing behind her, more than a little shocked, she ran forward and dropped to her knees beside Asher.

"What the fuck just happened?" Dean blurted as he approached the girls. He kept his gun trained on her chest, and Amelia thought about yelling at him, but she didn't. On a second thought, she realized it was probably a good idea. "Has that ever happened before Amelia?" he asked.

"No…" Amelia brushed some of Asher's hair off her neck so she could search for a pulse.

Sam knelt on the other side of the unconscious woman. "Is she okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Amelia nodded and inhaled deeply, calming herself and stopping her tears. She smiled across at Sam and then looked up at Dean. "I'm sorry that happened. You have to believe she's never done that before."

"I believe you."

"You can put the gun up now, asshole," Asher groaned from the ground. "I'm me again." She pushed herself to a sitting position as Dean did just that and groaned again before she coughed and looked down at her chest, three somewhat deep gashes staring back up at her. "Okay, can we get me something to cover this please? I don't really want to get inflected."

"I'm so sorry Ash…"

"It's fine, Amelia. You were just doing what you had to."

"We should get you to a hospital," Sam said as he removed the button down shirt he was wearing over a white t-shirt and pressed it against the wound.

Asher took over holding the shirt to her chest and shook her head, wincing with the movement. "I'll be fine. Amelia can stitch me up. She's done it countless times before. Or I can stitch myself." She wrapped her arm around Sam's neck as he leaned forward to help her up and let him lift her to her feet. "You are _much _better at that than Amelia. Can you help me to my truck too?"

"Okay, are we going to talk about what just happened?" Dean asked as he followed his brother and Asher over to the massive truck.

"Yeah, but not here, genius. You guys find a motel and we'll shack up and chat. Sound good to you?"

Amelia rolled her eyes as she climbed into the driver's seat. "Yes," she said to Dean, who was looking at Asher like she had sprouted another head again. "She's always, _always _like this."

"What a joy for you."

Amelia shook her head and slipped into the cab of the truck, starting the engine as soon as she had retrieved the keys from Asher's pocket. Sam helped Asher into the passenger's seat before climbing into the Impala before Dean drove off. The girls followed in the truck, Amelia keeping one eye on Asher as she drove, making sure her friend's blue eyes were still visible and that she didn't loose anymore colour from her face. There were only driving for a few moments before the Winchesters found a small motel on the side of the highway and pulled into the parking lot. Sam appeared at the passenger side of the massive truck while Dean ran to the office to get a couple of rooms. As soon as he had the keys and one of the rooms open, Sam pulled Asher gently from the truck and carried her inside where he laid her on the closest bed.

"Thanks Sam," she said, wincing as the scrapes on her back protested. Her wolf blood made wounds heal faster, so the road rash on her back was at the point of healing where it was really itchy and tight.

Amelia came through the door with two large duffel bags slung over her shoulders. She dropped one on the floor at the end of the bed and tossed the other one on the empty bed before she began to dig through it. She surfaced with a small white bag in hand and unrolled it beside Asher, revealing a selection of threads, needles and other medical paraphernalia.

"You really have done this before," Dean observed, sitting at the small table in the corner of the room.

Asher rolled her eyes. "You think?"

Amelia peeled back Sam's bloody shirt. "Sam, can you wet a towel with hot water please?" As the tall Winchester nodded and vanished into the bathroom, Amelia took her knife and cut Asher's shirt and bra open so she could better access the wounds. She handed the fabric back to Asher so the older woman could cover herself while Amelia continued to prepare the patient and the bed that would temporarily be used as an operating table.

"If it wasn't you two, this would be hot," Dean quipped.

Asher grabbed the pillow from beside her and chucked it across the room, Dean catching it right before it hit him in the face. "You are an asshole," she snapped.

"Can you clean the wound?" Amelia asked as Sam returned with a steaming towel in his hands. She got Asher to lie back, putting Sam's bloody shirt underneath her to cushion her back, and she moved so her body was blocking Dean's view of Asher's upper body. As Sam set about wiping the blood off Asher's tan skin, with more than a little blush in his cheeks, Amelia ran stitching thread through three needles and prepared to sew her best friend back together. "We don't have any local anaesthetic left, Ash, so this is going to hurt a lot more than it did last time."

"I don't care, just start sewing." As the needle pierced through her skin, she shut her eyes and screamed through clenched teeth. "Shit, shit, shit!" She grabbed the nearest thing, which just happened to be Sam's arm, and squeezed; Dean just started laughing. "Quit laughing asshead, before I come over there and sew your mouth shut." Asher glared, and the gesture was as effective through her tears of pain as it would have been under normal circumstances.

"Quit being such a baby, Ash. You can take this and you know it." Amelia finished closing the first wound and picked up the second threaded needle and began stitching right away.

"Where did you get that kit?" Dean asked, shifting his chair closer to the makeshift operating table.

"Amelia slept with a doctor and gave her all of it when she asked," Asher explained through winces. "And we steal refills. Let's just say I get cut up a lot and we usually need it."

"Somehow, that's not surprising in the slightest," Dean said with a grin.

"I _will _sew your mouth shut."

The bickering continued back and forth as Amelia continued to put her best friend back together and as Asher continued to squeeze Sam's arm almost to the point of breaking. After she had finished sewing, Amelia taped gauze over the wounds and then Sam and she began to pick the gravel out of Asher's back as she leaned forward as best she could and held the remains of her shirt over her chest. She concentrated on glowering at Dean to keep her mind off the pain of the tweezers digging through her skin.

"So why were you guys following us?" Amelia asked as she pulled another piece of rock out of Asher.

"We wanted to know if you guys had picked up the trail of the demon who had possessed Philip Huxley," Sam said. "And we wanted to ask about how you keep Asher from killing people."

"We're not telling you that," Asher snapped.

Dean, who was sitting on his chair at the foot of the bed now, leaned forward so he could look Asher in the eye. They spent a few moments locked in a staring contest, before Dean gave up. "Okay then, so did you pick up the trail of the demon?"

"No. We were just getting away from _you_ because Amelia was so paranoid that you were going to kill me, and it turns out that she wasn't far off base." Asher inhaled sharply as Sam pulled a piece of gravel out of her back. "So got anything else stupid you want to ask while you're here?" she asked with a sarcastic tone.

"Not that I can think of," Dean answered with a grin.

He dodged Asher's hand when she attempted to swat him and Sam said, "If you guys aren't working on a case, why don't you help us with one we found?"

"What?!" Dean missed the second swat from Asher and took the full force of the slap to the side of his head. "Sammy, what are you doing? We can't work with them!" he said as he rubbed the assaulted area.

"What's the case?"

"Amelia!" Dean and Asher looked at each other. "Hey, it was bound to happen that we'd agree on something eventually, pissbitch. But we are not working with them, Amelia. We'll find something else. Something that takes us far, far away from them."

"You haven't even heard what the case is yet," Sam protested.

"I don't care. Forgive me if I don't feel like working with someone who wants me dead."

"Well I want to work with them," Amelia said, her voice tight as she tore another piece of gravel from her adopted sister's back.

Asher winced and then rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to say this…" she moaned after a while of pondering. "But what do you know about the case so far?"

"Hold it. Before we start talking shop, you need to explain why you wolfed out on us back there," Dean said as he leaned forward again to fix his eyes on Asher; she had been hoping he'd forgotten about that. When it came to her werewolf side, she wasn't always the most accommodating. "According to all the lore, werewolves only change around the full moon. It's no where near the full moon, so what's up with you?"

"Anger."

Amelia and Sam finished picking gravel out of Asher's back with tweezers and as Sam took the tools into the bathroom to clean them, Amelia once again washed the wound, ignoring her best friend's wincing. "Ash," she said, applying a cool lotion that felt nice to the scraped flesh. "I think you're going to have to explain a little more. I don't think they've ever talked to someone who's been a werewolf for a long time. They don't understand your cryptic responses."

Asher sighed. "Okay, look," she started just as Sam returned. "After a while of being a wolf, you start to be able to feel it inside you all the time, and your human self starts to change. Your senses get better, you heal faster and you're stronger." She sighed again; exposing her secrets to strangers was obviously fairly difficult for her. "When I get angry, I can feel they wolf in me a long stronger, and I've been able to do so for a while. Amelia and I thought something like this might happen if I got angry enough. We just didn't know what would get me that angry, but apparently you flip my wolf switch, Dean."

Dean chuckled.

Amelia, Asher and Sam rolled their eyes in unison. "You are _so _mature," Amelia chided.

"So, for future reference—since apparently we're going to be working together—Dean, don't piss me off unless you want me to go wolf on your ass." Ignoring Dean's second chuckle, Asher turned to Sam. "Now, tell us about the case before I change my mind."

It was Sam's turn to laugh, although it wasn't clear what he found so funny. "It's a bit of a strange case," he informed the girls as he pulled his laptop from his backpack.

"In comparison to all the normal things we do," gibed Amelia.

As Sam filled the girls in on the zombie case, Asher settled back against a mound of pillows and managed to find a position in which to lay that didn't make her feel like her stitches were going to rip her chest open again. Amelia curled up on the end of her bed as she listened and Dean went outside, uninterested in hearing what he already knew. The girls, on the other hand, were very interested. A moment later, Dean returned with his duffel bag, sat down at the table and proceeded to dismantle his weapons and clean them.

"It definitely sounds like more than zombies," Amelia said once Sam had finished speaking, agreeing with his assessment.

"Do you have any idea what if could be though?" Sam asked. "I mean, we're already going to look for witches and demons, but that's pretty much where our list ends."

Both the girls shook their head. "If we think of something though, we'll be sure to wake you up and let you know."

Sam smiled a little sardonically at Amelia, and then nodded towards Dean, who had fallen asleep in his chair. "I think we should all get some rest now. We'll head out first thing in the morning. We're about four hours away from this place." He smacked Dean's shoulder as he passed, waking his older brother. "Night," he called.

"Night," Amelia and Asher echoed.

Dean said nothing.

"What _is _his problem?" Amelia asked as the shorter brother disappeared through the door.

"He does _not _like me."

"I wonder why."

"You mean aside from me being a werewolf?"

"Yeah. Maybe it's your hair."

"Yeah right. Big-bad-macho-hunter hates me because I have wavy hair." Asher snorted as she laughed. The moment of levity was followed by a deep wince and a pained moan escaping her lips. "Shit. This is going to take a while to heal right…"

Amelia climbed out of bed and headed to the counter serving as a kitchen and plugged the coffee maker in. As she prepared a pot of instant coffee, she said, "You know, I enjoy these all-nighters."

"Of course you do. You _like _doing research."

Amelia just looked at Asher as the coffee maker started to drip coffee. "I'm not planning on doing any research, Ash. Why don't we just sit up and talk?"

"About the case?"

"No. Just talk. Like, about our lives."

"Amelia, we're together twenty-four seven anyway. We know everything there is to know about each other anyway. What's there to talk about?" Asher took the mug of coffee when Amelia offered it to her. Amelia sat on the end of Asher's bed and stared at her. "I have nothing to talk about."

"Okay fine, we can talk about the case."

Asher smiled, pretending she was thankful for Amelia's bending to her will. For a couple hours, the girls sat in the lamplight, sipping mug after mug of coffee and chatting about the case, seeing if they could come up with any other ideas as to what might be controlling the zombies. Of course, they explored the possibility of it being something other than zombies that was tearing people apart, but they couldn't come up with anything that would leave hunks of meaty flesh lying around along with mostly whole bodies. Amelia pulled out her laptop at one point and dug through all her files on supernatural creatures, but still she found nothing that it could be. Nothing that they knew existed, anyway.

"Hey, didn't you read a book once that had a necromancer in it?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah, it was a series of books, but what's your point?"

"What if it's a necromancer?"

"Necromancers don't exist. Have you ever heard of someone who could raise dead people thanks to some inherent ability?"

"Well, no, but isn't it possible that we found one?"

"I suppose, but it's not likely." Asher drained her third mug of coffee and handed the empty cup to Amelia as she got up. "We'll talk to the guys in the morning and see if they've ever come across a necromancer."

"I guess that's the best thing to do." Amelia put the mugs on the counter before she climbed into bed. "Are you going to be able to sleep?"

"I can try."

"All right. See you in the morning."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So, "asshead" and "pissbitch" are swear words that my friends and I made up in high school. I like them, so I use them, and they work well when your character has already called Dean most every other name in the book.

I apologize if there are any grammar errors or anything. I'm fighting my way through a cold and, as a result, my skills aren't quite up to snuff. I miss a lot of things when I'm sick. So I apologize if it makes reading this chapter a little difficult, and if there's anything really distracting, just let me know and I'll fix it.

**Next Chapter: Can't Get Away That Easily. **


	4. Chapter Four: Silver Chains

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
****Chapter Four: Silver Chains. **

* * *

"What are you doing up?"

Sam turned away from the vending machine and smiled once he saw it was Amelia and not some gasping creature of the night… or Dean; there was a bag of chips in one hand and a can of pop in the other. Nutritious midnight snacking. "I couldn't sleep any longer," he said. "What about you?"

She shifted around for a bit, breathing heavily, and shrugged with one shoulder once she had regained enough breath. "I always get up early and go for a run," she breathed. "Keeps me in shape." Amelia bent over and propped herself up with her hands on her knees. She took several long, deep breaths, her blonde ponytail slipping over her shoulder. When she straightened again, there was a smile on her face. "Unlike Asher, I actually need to work at staying in shape. Sometimes… No, I don't think she got a good deal with the bite, but man, would I kill for her metabolism." Amelia retained her smile and pulled one of her legs up behind her, stretching out the muscles at the front of her thigh.

After overcoming his momentary shock at Amelia's words, Sam laughed. He took a second look at the young hunter and realized that she was dressed in a large sweater, jogging pants and running shoes. There was a sheen of sweat on her face and neck and her face were red. "You get up at five o'clock in the morning and go running?" he asked, sitting on the curb and opening his chips.

Asher plunked herself down on the curb beside Sam and stole a handful of his chips, ignoring the look he gave her as she did so. "Four, actually. I'm not terribly fond of it, but it's the only time I get to be by myself and running away is, let's face it, a huge part of our job description. I don't want to fall out of shape and get caught by a beast of some kind. I've seen what most of the supernatural baddies do when they catch someone and I have _no _desire to become several pounds of chopped meat."

He pondered that for a moment and then nodded. "Fair enough."

"You wanna go for a run?" she asked as she produced a water bottle out of nowhere and taking a long drink.

"Uh, no… I think I'll pass. Besides, didn't you just get back from a run?"

Amelia nodded and then did the one-shoulder shrug again. "Just thought I'd ask."

Sam opened his can of pop and filled the next few minutes by chugging the bubbly liquid. When he placed the half-empty can on the pavement beside him, the wiry hunter turned to face Amelia. "So, did you and Asher come up with any ideas about the case?"

It was a long time before Amelia answered. She stared at the ground, her tongue rolling around her cheek. "We did come up with something," she said finally, her voice unsure. "But Asher won't back this conclusion, and truth be told, I'm not sure I totally believe it either, and I'm the one who came up with it." Amelia sighed and ran her fingers backwards through her hair, sweeping a few stray strands back into place. "Have you ever heard of a necromancer?" she asked, her voice still timid; she didn't look at Sam as she spoke.

"Necromancer? Like someone who can raise the dead?"

"Raise and control the dead, yeah. There have never been any documented cases of necromancy in the United States—or anywhere else in the world that I know of—but it's about the only other thing we could come up with that you and Dean hadn't already thought of." She extended her legs out and reached forward to grab her toes.

"I suppose it's not completely impossible…" Sam chomped down another mouthful of chips as he pondered.

"I know it sounds completely ridiculous," Amelia admitted, pulling herself back into a normal sitting position. "Let's face it, how often does a hunter encounter something new? Not that often." She stole some more deep-fried potatoes from her curb companion and laughed a little bitterly. "I understand if you think it's not even worth pursuing, but I didn't really want to have nothing to contribute."

"It's not that ridiculous, and Dean and I never would have thought of it."

"No, you would have gone after the more rational conclusions."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. "Probably. If you can even use the term 'rational' in our line of work."

"Yeah, that's a big if."

Amelia and Sam lapsed into silence, the chilly night air drying the sweat on the girl's skin and making her shiver a bit. Thanks to the lack of a substantial moon, they were left sitting in a pool of yellow light from the lamp beside the vending machine, and thanks to the lack of vegetation around the motel, they were left sitting in a very still silence. When Amelia's shivering reached a certain level of violence, Sam wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her inside the room he was sharing with Dean. The older Winchester was sprawled across his bed, blankets twisted around his legs, and snoring very loudly. They sat at the table by the window in the semi-darkness of the room, neither Sam nor Amelia tired enough to try and fall asleep on the not-so-comfortable. Besides, Sam had an idea about how to pass the time until it was time to head about. The same plan would get some answers from Amelia, some information he'd been dying to know since the two teams of hunters had crossed paths. Information about Asher and her… situation.

"So Amelia… Can you tell me how you keep Asher from turning into a werewolf?" he asked once they were settled at the table. Granted, it wasn't the most subtle of ways to start the conversation, but there was no point in beating around the bush.

The girl shifted uneasily in the chair, her face suddenly flushed as it had been when she was running, and expressing a great deal of discomfort. "I don't think I should tell you that," she said. "It's kind of private."

Prepared for that answer, Sam cleared his throat and said, "If we're going to be working together, don't you think Dean and I should know so we can be aware of what's going on with you two?"

"But we most likely won't even be around each other when the full moon comes around, so what's the point?"

There was a loud snort from the bed and Dean was suddenly sitting up in his bed, the blankets clutched in one hand and the most amusing half-awake expression Amelia had ever seen on his face. He blinked several times and then looked at Sam and Amelia, sitting fairly close together at the table. His eyes darted from one to the other, confusion steadily increasing on his face. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked, more than a hint of a smirk on his lips and in his voice.

"Not that," Sam barked. "I was just asking Amelia about Asher."

"What? You two research monkeys not talking about the case?" Dean asked, moving to sit at the table, beside Amelia. He yawned and then slumped down in his chair.

"I'm sure we would have ended up talking about the case again," Amelia said.

"All right then, did you divulge any information about your oh-so-charming partner?"

"No. And I don't think I will. Ash is very personal about here werewolf…itus."

"What? She thinks it's a disease?" Dean snorted again, in laughter and disbelief this time.

Amelia was rightly offended for her friend. "Well isn't it? She was perfectly normal right up until she got bit, and now she has these other genes or whatever floating around her system and she goes furry once or twice a month. It's more a sickness than anything else. It's not like she's a complete monster or anything."

"But there's no cure."

"There's no cure for cancer either, Dean," Sam stated.

"Okay, okay, so she's sick. You should tell us how you keep her from killing more people, especially if we're going to be working together." When Sam and Amelia sighed at the same time, Dean blinked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You've already put forth that argument… Ah well, I'm backing it. If we're going to be in close quarters, and if there's a chance she might wolf out again like she did back in that parking lot, we should know about it." Dean's face turned serious, hard. "I don't really feel like being attacked without notice, thanks. Especially by someone who will have the balls to rub it in my face later."

"Asher wouldn't do that. If she attacked you, she'd feel bad."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Amelia sighed and looked from one brother to the other, thoughts at war in her head. Should she tell them? Would Asher be mad if she did? Was it her right to tell them? These were Asher's secrets, after all. They weren't Amelia's to share, but Asher would never tell, and the boys did have a point. Asher had already gone beyond the known limits of her mutation or whatever once around the brothers, and if they were going to be working together, then Amelia didn't want to risk another attack. "Asher will probably kill me if she finds out I told you guys…" she said finally. She sighed again and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. "At night for three to five nights around and including the night of the full moon, I bind Asher to a chair or bed with chains made almost out of pure silver."

"Kinky."

She shot Dean a sharp look.

In an attempt to avoid another argument, Sam asked, "And that works?"

Amelia pulled her gaze away from Dean and looked at Sam, the calmer Winchester spreading his influence almost immediately. "Yeah… it keeps her from running around town, killing people, and it keeps her from changing completely."

"Wait, what do you mean 'completely'?"

Her eyes widened, and if she'd been drinking something, she would have choked on it and spit it all over Sam. "What? You've never seen a fully-transformed werewolf?"

"I'm assuming not, since we've only seen one or two of them."

"Well, that's something you can wait and see on your own. I have no desire to describe it or think about it." She grasped at another straw of conversation. "Back to Asher… The chains keep Asher in the room and from harming everyone, but they hurt her. A lot. So there, now you know how Asher keeps from becoming a total monster and you can stop asking. Let's talk about the case, shall we? What do you think about the necromancer theory, Sam?"

"Whoa, whoa, back up," Dean demanded. "How did you land on silver chains? It sounds completely ridiculous."

Amelia sighed again and hugged herself tighter, rocking slightly in her chair. It was clear to Sam and Dean that she was uncomfortable talking about her best friend, but neither of the brothers made any move to change the subject. "After she killed that man… She had a fit. Unlike any of the other werewolves I've come across, she remembered everything that happened while she was transformed. I found her in an alley, crying and covered in blood." Amelia let out another sigh, shakier than the last and stared at the table. Her eyes had gone distant; she was reliving the memory. "When she was in control again, Asher made me promise we'd find a way to keep her from transforming again… We knew nothing normal would keep her from rampaging around, and we knew silver hurt werewolves, so… we tries silver chains. And they work. To a degree."

"I'm not sure I believe you," Dean said.

"Dean—"

"Well, if you're around the next time she's about to change, you can sit with her and watch her thrash around and listen to her scream and her skin hiss as the metal burns her. Maybe you can listen to her beg you to kill her and to let her go. Would you like that? Would that make you _believe me_?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam got there first. "I'm sorry Amelia, we didn't mean to drag up such painful memories."

"It's fine," she snapped. "Well, it's not, but whatever. These aren't your issue. But you're right. We are going to be working together, so you guys should know." She rubbed her hands over her face. "Can we talk about the case now? Please? Asher will ask me if we came up with anything while she was asleep…"

The boys were silent for a few minutes. "Uh… Yeah. Did you say something about a necromancer theory?" Dean asked. His voice was quieter than it had been before and his face was softer. The stubbornness had vanished. The "ape" as Asher had called him, obviously had some sense of when he'd gone too far. He knew when he'd been enough of a pain in the ass.

Amelia nodded. "It was all Asher and I could come up with that you two hadn't already talked about. We still think witches or someone with a spell is more likely. Demon comes next in line and then whatever else you came up with. Necromancer would be like, the bottom of the list."

"They don't exist."

Her head snapped up and she glared at the older Winchester. "I know that." She sighed, rubbed her face again and slumped forward on the table, face hidden from her fellow hunters. "Sam and I already had this conversation, but do you not think there's even a tiny, _tiny _possibility that we might have found one? Like, the first one or something. I mean the stories and characters in books and stuff had to come from somewhere, didn't they? All the supernatural stuff comes from truth, right?"

Dean blinked at her miniature outburst. "Uhm… I guess so?"

"Okay then. So we should add necromancer to the list of creatures to search for." Sam and Dean both blinked at Amelia who was, perhaps rightfully, quite flustered. She looked at them with quick glances, but stared mostly at the orange-ish surface of the table and the linoleum beneath her feet. The younger Winchester reached out to touch her shoulder, but pulled his hand back at the last minute, unsure of what she would do if touched. Amelia took several long, deep breaths and then looked up at the brothers, an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry… I just get all worked up when it comes to Asher's situation. And I've never had to tell anyone before. Oh, she is going to _kill _me."

"You've got that right."

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**Author's Note.**

For the record, Asher found being stitched together more painful than being cut open because she was in semi-wolf form when she was chopped up and has a higher pain tolerance when she's all wolfed out. Just thought you guys should know that. (grin) And yeah, I told you I was going to make some shit up when it comes to werewolves and that, but it's all stuff that feasible when it comes to werewolves. Does that sentence make sense? Oh well!

So, I'm sad that not many people seem to want to review this fic, but oh well. My friends like it, so that's all that really matters, I suppose. But if you are reading this, please review! I love reviews and they make me feel better about my writing.

**Next Chapter: Nothing Out of Place. **


	5. Chapter Five: Nothing Out of Place

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
****Chapter Five: Nothing Out of Place. **

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Asher crossed the space between the door and the table in three long strides and planted herself firmly in front of Amelia. She had pulled a large white t-shirt on over her taped wounds, but she was still wearing her black skinny jeans and there was nothing on her feet. Her black hair was in disarray, sticking up on one side of her head, and even though she looked tired, her normal fire was burning bright in her blue eyes. "What the _fuck _were you thinking telling them?!" she barked, leaning forward, so her tangled hair fell over her shoulders. "Why did you tell them about me?!" She groaned loudly, straightened and stomped away from her friend, exposing her back; the white shirt had spots of red dappled across it.

"Ash, your back—"

"Don't talk to me right now, Amelia," Asher snapped, gesturing violently with one hand.

"Asher, listen—"

"No!" She spun around to face Amelia again; dimly she was aware of Dean and Sam staring at her, their mouths open. "We agreed we'd keep that to ourselves and here you are spewing our secret to the Winchesters and agreeing to work with them, when not six hours ago you were trying to convince me to stay the hell away from them!"

"Ash—"

"_Those weren't your secrets to tell." _

Amelia rose out of her chair, making Asher, who had advanced a few steps, stumble backwards. "I told them because we _are_ going to be working together and they had a right to know! Especially after you went all wolf back in the parking lot! Do you want to kill someone else? Do you want more blood on your hands?" Her voice shook as she questioned her adopted sister, and there was real anger in her face. Amelia was also aware of Sam and Dean watching, but she kept her eyes on Asher, even when Sam rose out of his chair and slowly, cautiously approached the girls.

"Sit down, Bambi," Asher snarled. "This isn't your fight."

Regardless of Asher's acidic words, Sam stepped in between the girls, one hand extended to either side. He wasn't really sure what he'd be able to do if the werewolf decided to jump him, but it was worth a try. Plus, he didn't know if she had her super strength when she was still a human. "Asher," he said, turning his head so he could look at the older woman straight on, "I'm sorry I talked Amelia into telling us about the chains and whatever, but Dean and I aren't going to tell anyone, and now we know there's a way to stop you without chopping you to pieces. We needed to know to stop you from hurting us and yourself." Ignoring Asher's muttered curses, Sam turned to Amelia. "And why are you antagonizing her? I haven't known you two for that long, but from what I've heard and from what Dean remembers of Asher, she doesn't sound like the kind of woman you provoke." Amelia stepped away from Sam's hand too and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well," Sam said, his voice infinitely more upbeat than before, "since we're all up, why don't we get ready and head out?"

Dean finally stood up from the table and nodded once. "Sounds good to me."

Asher turned to the burlier of the Winchester brothers. "Wait a sec. Sam said you remembered things about me? What do you remember?"

"You as a little kid almost shooting my Dad and me. And then you jumping out of a tree to attack a demon and almost landing on me. Neither are particularly fond memories, but Sam's right: they sure taught me not to provoke you."

She scoffed. "You've been doing a _great _job of that, haven't you?"

"Look—"

"I get that you don't like me, Dean, and I think I even understand _why _you don't like me, but I'm good at my job and I protect the people I'm working with, and if we are going to be working together, let's… call a truce, okay?"

Dean stared at her for a moment, a little shocked by her words and her willingness to approach peace first. "Yeah. Truce." He extended his hand and the werewolf shook it, the pair staring intently at each other. "So we'll lead and you'll follow to this place that no one seems to be able to pronounce?"

Asher nodded and then turned towards the door of the boys' motel room, Amelia taking the silent hint and following. "Twenty minutes?" she called. With Dean's affirmation, Asher led the way back to her motel room, Amelia falling in step beside her. "You'll have to check my wounds before we head out. I can feel the stitches pulling, and I want to know if I've healed enough to move or if I'm going to rip myself to pieces just by walking."

"Okay… Ash, I'm sorry—"

The older hunter rolled her eyes, but didn't say it was fine or okay or anything. She gave Amelia no answer, just a shrug of one shoulder before she stepped into the room. Asher sat on the bed and pulled the t-shirt up over the taped stitches, wincing slightly as her scraped back hit the blankets beneath her. Slowly, Amelia pulled the gauze back and gently prodded the stitches, pleased to find the movement didn't bring any more blood to the surface and didn't seem to cause Asher too much pain. Quickly, Amelia cleaned the stitches and applied new gauze from her handy dandy medical kit.

"You're healing just fine," she said. "Let me take a look at your back though; there was blood on your shirt."

Asher sat up and spun on the bed so Amelia could examine the road rash. Determining the blood was just from the woman moving in her sleep and there wasn't any immediate danger of fresh bleeding, Amelia applied a salve that would keep the scrapes from getting infected as they finished healing.

Wounds cleaned and freshly bandaged, Asher climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom to wash and brush her hair, brush her teeth and gather up her things that had some how spread to the small, adjoining room. As she began to pack up her other things, Amelia took over the bathroom. With her things packed back in her large blue duffel bag, Asher pulled on her boots and slid the thigh sheath onto her belt. As she was buckling it around her leg, just above her knee, there was a knock at the door, and Dean and Sam entered the room without waiting for an answer. Ignoring the boys, Asher slipped her sawed off shotgun into the sheath and pulled her black bomber jacket on. When she faced the Winchesters, Dean was staring at the weapon on her leg.

"What? Never seen a woman with a shotgun before?"

"Did you make that?"

Asher drew the gun out and handed it to Dean. "Yeah, I did."

"Impressive."

As the weapon was returned to its owner, Amelia emerged from the bathroom, changed out of her jogging clothes and looking like herself again. She was wearing black cowboy boots over dark blue skinny jeans, a black tank top underneath a white and black plaid button-up shirt, and her black cowboy hat. With a nod, she quickly packed her things, and a few moments later, when the girls loaded the bags into the back of the truck, and Sam had fetched everyone coffee and bagels from the restaurant attached to the motel, the Impala and the truck pulled out of the parking lot and continued their steady trek east, towards the unpronounceable town.

Four hours later, around nine in the morning, the parade of two vehicles pulled into the town that was just waking up; there was nothing immediately out of place, nothing immediately out of place. Sam checked the address of the last murder, which had taken place two days ago, and the group of hunters headed down a side street and found the two-storey house where a family of four had been slaughtered to the point where nothing was left except a pile of meat. There was no one around the house, the police and CSI teams having finished for the moment, so they parked the cars across the street and Dean, Sam, Amelia and Asher approached the house, all on high alert, not for monsters, but for neighbours and officials who could potentially get them in trouble. Dean's eyes kept darting to the sawed off sitting in the sheath along Asher thigh; he paid no attention to the knife along Amelia's leg.

"Why do you keep looking at my gun?" Asher asked as her and Dean walked around the back of the house. Amelia and Sam had gone in the front.

"You just walk around with an illegal weapon out in the open like that?"

Asher shrugged and climbed the stairs to the back door. "I haven't been caught yet, have I? I'll worry about the legal issues if I ever get busted." As she pulled out her lock-picking kit, Dean appeared at her side. "What now?" she asked as she withdrew her tools. She returned the kit to her pocket and set about unlocking the door.

"Nothing. Uh, how're your stitches?"

"We called a truce, Dean, that doesn't mean you have to make small talk." With a click, the door swung open, revealing a normal kitchen, splattered with blood. Those little yellow cards with numbers on them were sitting in various spots on the floor, the table and one spot on the counter. Careful not to disturb anything, Asher made her way through the kitchen to the living room, where Sam and Amelia were investigating the blood stains on the floor. "This is definitely the work of more than one zombie," she said, looking over her shoulder at Dean.

He nodded. "We should get a look at what's left of the bodies. There might be a clue."

"Agreed." Asher moved to stand beside Amelia. "You and Sam stay here and keep looking around. Dean and I are going to look at the bodies, or what's left of them anyway." She didn't wait for a response from Amelia, just turned on her heel and gestured for Dean to follow her through the front door, where there was far less blood to step in on the way.

"Does Amelia always just do what you say?" Dean asked as Asher fished her FBI suit from the back of her truck and grabbed some things from her duffel bag.

"Usually. I'm older than she is, so I usually take point. Isn't it the same with you and Sam?"

"I guess."

Asher slung her bag on her shoulder and headed towards the Impala. "I saw a hotel on the way here."

Dean just nodded and climbed behind the wheel. Following Asher's directions, they found the hotel, got two rooms and changed into their FBI suits. When they converged back at the muscle car, Asher double-checked her fake ID before getting back in the car. Dean grabbed the box of IDs from the glove compartment and pulled out one of the pieces of plastic with his picture, the fake name of George Sheppard, and the letters FBI on it.

"That's a great fake," he said, catching a glimpse.

"Amelia made it. She makes all the IDs we need."

"Huh. Maybe I should get her to remake some of my older ones."

"You would have to pay her," Asher informed him with a sarcastic grin.

He started the car and headed towards the police station. Asher swept her long black hair up into a twisted bun of some kind. "Speaking of money, how do you two get by?"

"Why do you care?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm just curious. It's not often we meet up with other hunters, other than the ones we've worked with before."

Asher shrugged. "We probably get money the same way you do: play poker, pool and drink."

"Drink?"

She levelled her blue eyes on the side of Dean's face; a challenging look. "Yes. Drink. I haven't met anyone who can beat me in a drinking contest."

"Anyone?"

_"Anyone."_

Dean barely contained his laughter. Apparently, the idea of Asher out-drinking him—or anyone; it was kind of hard to tell what exactly he was laughing at—was really, really funny. "I guess we'll have to see who's better sometime," he said, turning his head sideways to give her a brief smirk. Dean parked the Impala in the back corner of the lot once they arrived at the police station, and climbed out into the mild fall air. "So is that the only way you guys get money?"

"No. I write and Amelia takes photos and we sell what we produce. Part of our income is legal, which is more than I'm assuming I can say for you and Sam." As they approached the police station, Asher slipped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and there was a subtle shift in her demeanour; her shoulders dropped and her back straightened. There was something instantly authoritative in the way she held herself and, although Dean would never admit it, he was impressed with the sudden change and how easily it seemed to come to her. When they walked into the front of the police station, it was Asher who walked up the receptionist, flipped her fake badge open and said, "I'm Agent Grey, and this is my partner, Agent Sheppard. We're here to see the bodies of the family that was murdered."

The receptionist, an older woman with wrinkles around her eyes and her hair pulled back impossibly tight, peered through her glasses at the badges displayed in front of her. "Just a moment please." She pushed herself up from her desk and bustled back down the hallway, disappearing into a room near the back. When she returned, there was a tall, thin man in scrubs following her.

"Hello Agents. I'm Doctor Phillips and I'm the Chief Medical Examiner."

Dean took the extended hand and shook it. "I'm Agent Sheppard, this is Agent Grey," he said as Asher shook the man's hand. "We need to get a look at the bodies of—"

"The Addams family, yes. Please follow me," Doctor Phillips said, turning around and heading back down the hall which he'd come from. "I'm actually glad the FBI decided to get involved with this case. I've never seen slaughter like this before… There are no tool marks that I can find. It's as if something just tore these people apart. And more disturbing then that, on the children, I found something that looked remarkably like teeth marks." As the man's back was to Dean and Asher, the two hunters were able to share a look; they knew their suspicions about zombies were correct. "Do you have a connection with another case?"

It took the hunters a moment to realize a question had been posed. "Yes," Asher stammered after a minute. "But we're not at liberty to discuss the details of those cases with anyone."

"Of course. I understand."

Doctor Phillips opened a door, revealing the standard sterile environment of a morgue. There were three shiny exam tables standing in a line, all burdened with covered bodies, and a moveable gurney had been rolled up beside the far table and held the smallest body. Asher hesitated a moment at the door, her eyes glued to the bodies of the children, but she swallowed whatever emotions she was feeling and proceeded into the chilly air of the bright room. She ignored the look from Dean as she donned the backwards plastic coat and two pairs of plastic gloves. They stepped up the first table—the rolling one with the smallest body—and Doctor Phillips pulled back the plastic sheet, the crinkling filling the large room.

It was the little girl. She had to have only been three or four—five at most—and she could have been asleep. Aside from the gaping hole in her stomach and the fact that she was missing one of her tiny legs. There was a tattered ribbon of intestine hanging out of the body cavity, and her small hands were balled into fists at her sides. Her pale skin and blonde hair were splattered with her blood, and some of the flesh around the wound was only attached by small pieces. Asher bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making any noise, but Dean caught the movement and, while the Doctor's attention was otherwise occupied, he offered her the most sympathetic look he could. She ignored him.

"The bite marks are most visible here," Phillips said as he lifted the skin with a large set of tweezers.

Dean leaned forward slightly and peered at the muscle where Phillips was pointing. Asher looked in that general direction, but she didn't get as close. After a moment, she took a step back and removed her gloves. "Excuse me, please," she managed as she hurried from the room.

As the door closed behind her, she heard Dean say, "Just transferred to homicide."

She pulled off the plastic jacket and left it in a pile in the corner and pushed herself forward until she was outside, in the parking lot, with the cool wind breaking over her face and keeping her from loosing the fast food breakfast she'd ingested that morning. It wasn't the blood that bothered her. It was the little fingers, the little toes; the little girl. Murdered children always bothered Asher more than anything else. She had seen horrors beyond what most people could imagine, and most of it didn't even faze her, but children… She shook her head and sunk to her butt with her back pressed against the stone of the police station. Asher pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her face into them, taking breaths as slow and as deep as she could manage. Eventually Dean came out of the police station and stood beside her. He didn't say anything, and she had no idea how long she sat there for, but Dean never said anything, and when she pushed herself to her feet, he only offered her another sympathetic look.

"Say anything to Sam or Amelia…"

Dean's look of sympathy turned into his normal grin. "Your secret is safe with me. Wait, how does Amelia not know about this?"

"We don't always see the bodies together. If I know there's children involved, I'll find something else to do while she investigates the bodies." Asher took another long, deep breath. "Can we just head back to the scene now?"

Dean nodded, still smiling. "Let's hope they found something to lead us towards who is raising these killer zombies." Asher nodded in agreement as she climbed into the front seat of the Impala. "Hey, you're not going to throw up are you? Because if you're going to be sick, you can't ride in my car."

Asher levelled a sharp look at him. "I'm fine."

Laughing quietly, Dean pulled out onto the street and headed back across town to the house where Amelia and Sam were still poking around. He parked behind the truck and they climbed out in unison. Sam and Amelia were sitting on the bottom stair when they walked in the front door, talking about the case. Or what Asher hoped was the case. If they were talking about random shit when she had just had to stare at the torn up body of a little girl…

"Hey," Amelia said as she noticed the two older hunters. "Did you guys find anything?"

"Teeth marks on the bodies of the children," Asher breathed.

"The parents' bodies were torn in something like twenty or thirty pieces, but they were all there," Dean said, filling in the details Asher couldn't. "It's definitely zombies."

"A lot of zombies."

"Did you find anything around here?" the older Winchester asked.

"Just a lot of blood and other less… red things." Sam shook his head, like he was shaking the memories from his head. "There were a few footprints and handprints in the blood, but nothing out of place for a murder scene." He ran his fingers back through his longer hair and sighed. "There were no signs of a ritual, an alter, anything. Nothing to give us any idea of who raised these killer zombies."

"So we're really no closer to an answer, are we?" Asher asked, her voice exasperated.

"Well… When I was looking over the news articles about the murders, I noticed one man who was in all the photos. I don't have a name yet, but that's our next lead."

Asher's eyes flashed with anger as she stared at Sam. "And you didn't tell us this before _because_?"

Sam froze. He blinked a few times. "I guess it just slipped my mind in midst of all the sewing and wound-cleaning and gravel picking."

After a moment, Asher huffed, turned on her heel and stormed back outside, her suit-clad form visible stalking across the front lawn to her truck. The three hunters left in the house were all still for a moment, and then they moved outside to their vehicles, using Asher's sudden departure as segue to move to the privacy of their hotel rooms. Asher drove in silence, still fuming about the withheld information, and it wasn't until they were in their room, away from Sam and Dean that she spoke.

"I can't believe we took this case! They're already not telling us valuable information!"

Amelia watched her surrogate sister pace back and forth in front of their beds and sighed. She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her blonde locks as Asher muttered and fumed, knowing that anything she said at that moment would go unheard. When Asher was in a fit… Well, the rest of the word tended to vanish.

"I can _not _believe I let you talk me into taking this. I can't believe I gave in. They're just dragging us along… probably for some joke. They're probably going to shoot me before this is all over, and then they'll have to shoot you because you know too much." Asher groaned loudly and quickened the pace of her monotonous trek. After unleashing a string of curses, she collapsed on her bed and pulled the pillow over her face so she could scream and not cause the other guests of the hotel to come running in a panic.

"Just take a few deep breaths before you freak out and go all beastie again, okay?" Amelia's words may have been mocking, but her voice was tight with worry.

Asher sat up and stared at Amelia for a long minute. "You do research. You talk to the Winchesters. I'm going to clean my guns."

Amelia just sighed, but she nodded and grabbed her laptop from her bag.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So apparently, I have an issue with mixing the girls up. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out who I mean if I mess them up, but I'm going to try harder to catch that… I don't know why I keep messing them up. Maybe it's because both their names start with A. Maybe that wasn't the best choice, but those are their names, so… Yeah. And now I'm rambling.

Let's hear it for Sam the peacekeeper! Woo!

I apologize for the gory details. I watch a lot of CSI and read a lot of novels were the gore factor is high. Like Anita Blake. Anyways, sorry if that turned anyone's stomachs.

**Next Chapter: Bloodthirsty. **


	6. Chapter Six: Bloodthirsty

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
**Chapter Six: Bloodthirsty.

* * *

The door shaking in its frame woke Asher before Amelia. She grabbed her gun from between the mattress and box spring and crept across the floor, gun out in front of her in a two-handed grip and her oversized t-shirt flapping around her bare legs. The door shook again. Asher clicked the safety off and aimed at the door from five feet away, waiting for whatever was on the other side to burst through. The door rattled again, louder, and Amelia finally woke up. As she opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on, the door finally snapped off its hinges. Asher sighted down her gun.

"Don't shoot!" Dean snapped. He stepped out of the darkness and ended up very close to Asher, his chest almost touching the barrel of her gun. She closed the distance, a snarl on her lips. "I said, don't shoot."

"What the hell is wrong with you, busting in here at whatever the hell time it is in the freaking morning?"

Dean blinked. "Well, someone isn't a morning person."

"_Dean,"_ Sam huffed from the door.

By his tone and the set of his broad shoulders, the girls knew there was something up. Amelia pulled herself out of bed and stood by Asher's side. "What's going on?" she asked.

"In the parking lot," the taller Winchester breathed. "Zombies."

Asher's and Amelia's faces paled. After a brief second of shock, Amelia moved to her bag, pulled on her jeans and thigh holster, sliding the knife from under her pillow back home. She pulled a handgun out of her bag and shoved it down the back of her pants, so she had her hands free to quickly gather up her things. Meanwhile, Asher continued to stare down the barrel of her gun at Dean, who hadn't moved.

"Aren't you going to get ready?" he asked.

"Get the hell off my gun and I will."

"Guys," Sam warned. He was standing half out the doorway, his eyes glued to the opposite end of the parking lot.

"Chill out Bambi. They're zombies. They can only go about a mile an hour."

"Actually Asher, these ones are moving a little bit faster."

The werewolf snarled again and dropped her gun. "Fine. Just let me put some pants on and we can go kick some zombie ass." She turned away from Dean and pulled her black skinny jeans on underneath the oversized t-shirt, slipping her handgun into the back of her belt like Amelia. She also took the time to attach her thigh holster and slipped her sawed off into place. As she slung her bag across her shoulders, she pulled the gun back out from her belt and headed out the door, pushing past Sam.

The zombies they were facing did indeed move faster than the normal breed. A few of the shambling corpses were even running. As they approached, they brought with them the putrid smell of death. Accustomed to the stench, but also subject to the deeper complexities of decay thanks to her werewolf senses, Asher gagged and coughed and tried to keep herself from throwing up. Swallowing the urge to spew, she sidestepped across the lot towards her truck, gun levelled at the closest zombie's chest. Shooting the thing wouldn't work of course, since the only way to kill a zombie was to stake it to its grave, but the bullets might slow it down enough to get in the car and drive away. No matter how fast the dead things could move, they wouldn't be able to catch a car.

"Why are they following us?" Amelia asked as she made a beeline for the truck.

Asher didn't answer as she leapt into the cab of her truck and turned over the ignition. Beside the truck, the Impala did the same and the cars pulled out of the lot in a single file line, Asher taking a moment to plough over several zombies. Only when they were on the road, driving away from the motel, did she look at her surrogate sister, her eyes wide with panic, fear and the exhilaration she always got while hunting things.

"What if whoever is raising the damn things sent them after us?" she suggested, her voice so tight she was barely able to get the words out.

"Ash, take a breath." It was an order. "We don't need you wolfing out behind the wheel." Amelia watched the older woman calm down, watched her shoulders loosen, watched the fire leave her eyes. "As for the zombies being sent after us… that's a possibility. I mean, whoever it was could have seen us. Or maybe they're able to give vague targets and just sent them after whoever is investigating."

Asher took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the review mirror and the Impala as she exhaled. "Whatever. Let's just get the hell away from here."

"We're well on our way, Ash."

"Wait, what the… Amelia, do you see that?!"

Amelia followed the werewolf's gaze out the window to the side of the road, where the dark shape of a man was standing, hands in his pockets and a placid expression reflected in the headlights of the trucks. There was something tired to the way he was standing. Amelia's jaw fell open and it was a few seconds before she realized her cell phone was ringing. As she answered it, she twisted in her seat so she could watch the man until he was out of view.

"Yeah?"

_"Did you see that guy?" _Sam asked.

"Yeah. Do you think he's the one raising the zombies?"

_"It's possible. But what would he be doing here?"_

"Watching his handiwork? Watching to see if his pet corpses actually got to tear us apart? What if he's a sociopath? A satanic murderer?" She turned back the right way in her seat and buckled her seat belt.

_"Don't get carried away here, Amelia. We don't know what's going on yet." _

"I know that, but we've got to get some ideas. Basically, we've got 'necromancer' and that's it. Oh wait, there's your secret name too, but _that_ is it. There's nothing to give us a definitive answer, so I feel I'm open to some speculation. It's harmless, right?" Amelia ignored a look from Asher and fought the sudden and unexpected urge to laugh.

_"I suppose you're right," _Sam said, a smile in his voice. _"I guess we've got some serious research to do when we find another motel."_

"When don't we have research to do?" Amelia listened to Sam's laugh and then hung up her phone when she heard his click off. Saying goodbye seemed silly when the boys were twenty feet behind them in a car. The blonde hunter turned to her companion and watched her for a moment, as she was still worried that Asher might freak out; even before she'd become a werewolf, the woman had had a volatile temper, and it had only been amplified by become a shapeshifter.

"Stop staring at me like that," she snapped.

"Sorry. Uh, Sam saw that guy as well."

"Was it that guy Sam wasn't going to tell us about?"

"I didn't ask. We're going to do some more research together tonight, so I'll ask then."

"You seem to be doing a lot of research together."

Amelia blushed, but Asher's eyes were on the road, so she didn't see it. "It's not like you and Dean ever do any research, and it's gotta get done, so Sam and I get stuck with all the books. You know, it wouldn't kill you to do some of the reading."

"I can't stand it. It's boring."

"Duh."

Asher smiled with one corner of her mouth. "I think I see a motel up ahead."

Amelia peered into the darkness in front of the truck. A faint neon glow soon became a sigh. "Do you think we're far enough away?"

"I don't know. Call the boys and ask."

Amelia took out her phone and hit redial. "Do you think we're far enough away from the zombies?" she asked as soon as Sam picked up.

_"Dean says not, and I agree. We should head to the next one. Those zombies were moving fast and they would be able to cover that distance by morning." _

"You're probably right. See you there." She hung up the phone and slid it back into her pocket. "They think the zombies could get here by morning, so we should keep going." Amelia sighed and slid down in her seat, the adrenaline from being chased that had been keeping her going finally seeping from her veins. Her eyes fluttered shut, the lids suddenly too heavy to hold up and her whole body went slack. She had almost fallen completely asleep when the truck turned sharply to the left, sending her flying into the door and startling her awake.

"Sorry," Asher said. "We're here."

Amelia sat up and looked around. The motel was one storey and wrapped around a large square parking lot, just like most of the roadside inns they stayed at, but this one was completely empty when there was usually at least one or two other renters. Asher parked in front of the dimly lit office, but she didn't get out right away. Instead, she waited until the Impala had parked beside her and the boys got out. When they were standing on the pavement, she slid from the cab and stood in front of them. Amelia joined her.

"I think we should just get one room," Asher said.

Dean smirked, although it was twitchy, like he was trying to fight it. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get your mind out of the gutter for once, asshat. We were just attacked. Don't you think it might be prudent to all be in one place in case it happens again? In case you haven't noticed, the four of us working together would be a little bit stronger than if we were in groups of two."

"Sam and I have done just fine up until now. And did you just call me an asshat?"

"I didn't say you _needed _us, just that we'd be better pitted against a hoard of zombies if we were all in one place. And yes, I called you an asshat."

Dean's smug grin was back. "I suppose we can get one room then."

While Sam and Amelia shared a look of boredom at their respective siblings tendency to argue, Asher and Dean headed into the office, disappearing behind old red-orange blinds. There must have been a lamp lighting the room, because silhouettes of the hunters appeared, and it looked like they were still arguing, Asher with along of hand gestures and Dean with a lot of half-turning away. A third silhouette appeared—the motel manager—and a moment later, Asher and Dean emerged into the parking lot.

"You are such an ass," Asher spat as she pulled the door of her truck open.

"I believe you've covered that with almost every insult you can."

Sam and Amelia shared another look. "What room are we in?" Sam asked. When he had the answer, he and Amelia turned and started walking across the lot, heading for the row of rooms at the back. The room in the middle was larger than the rest, and had two parking spaces in front of it. "Huh. No wonder they were arguing in there," Sam mused.

"What are you talking about?"

He pointed to the sign on the door. It was the room number, but it was mounted on a wooden heart, the red paint flaking away. "It's the Honeymoon Suite."

"Who the hell would have their honeymoon at this motel?"

"Do we really want to know the answer to that question?"

Amelia paused, pretending to think, a half-smirk on her lips. "No, no, I don't think I do."

Once the vehicles were parked and unloaded, Asher unlocked the door and made a beeline for the bed. She dropped her large duffel bag on it, effectively staking her claim on the lone bed in the room. It was a king-sized bed, so Amelia would be sharing, and there was a rather dilapidated couch against one wall, which could serve as another bed. Sam put his bag on the couch and smiled lopsidedly at Dean.

"Guess you're stuck with the floor or one of the chairs."

Dean just rolled his eyes and plunked himself down in the closest seat. It was a small chair, but hey, he was used to not getting much sleep. Amelia had already fished her laptop out of her bag and was flipping through a book at the same time she was waiting for a webpage to load. Sam had the journal that had belonged to John Winchester open and was eagerly scanning the written pages, looking for some piece of information he might have missed the last two times he'd looked through the book. Asher had claimed the bathroom and, by the sounds of running water, was having a shower. Dean just stared out the window, his sawed off shotgun sitting across his knees, waiting to see if anyone else was going to come after them tonight.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Asher emerged from the bathroom, wearing the oversized t-shirt she'd started the night in and a pair of knee-length pyjama pants. She was rubbing at her long black hair vigorously with a small towel. As Amelia had taken up most of the bed, the older hunter grabbed her hairbrush and something wrapped in black cloth from her bag before hauling her weapons bag off the floor and proceeding over to sit against the wall across from Dean.

"You know guys," Sam said from the couch. "I think our original assessment might have been right."

"What?" three voices questioned in unison.

"I think this guy might be a necromancer." Sam unfolded his lanky form and crossed the room to Asher and Dean. He handed the woman the journal and the book he'd been looking through, and pointed to a half-page picture in the book. "Look at that."

Asher turned her eyes downward. Underneath the image, there was a few lines of tiny print:

_Necromancy is a very old and very rare form of magic. It is passed through families and can result in spontaneous rising of the dead if not properly trained. The last known necromancer was in England in the late seventeen hundreds. _

"That's over three hundred years ago," Asher breathed.

Dean, who had moved to read over her shoulder, nodded. "Yeah, but just because that's the last known necromancer doesn't mean there hasn't been another one. Besides, all the knowledge of the supernatural kind of disappeared when people came over here. No one over here wants to believe in the monsters."

"So we're going with necromancer?" Amelia asked from the bed.

"Looks like it." Asher sighed and handed the book back to Sam. "So I guess our next move is to find your mystery man, Sam."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So my muse has run off again, which is the only way I can explain the time between updates. I apologize for that, because I know my friends have been waiting for an update. So, here it is. By the way, I should be studying for my history midterm, but… Writing is more fun! And it's the only way I can find my muse.

I also should be writing my essays, but since when I have not procrastinated on things I _have _to do?

Anyways, I hope you guys like this chapter. It took a while to get it out, but I'm pretty happy with the result. Oh, and in case anyone is interested, Lunn Lady of Angst here on , and my best friend in real life, is going to be posting a moment between Sam and Amelia, who is her character, sometime in the near future. Once it's posted, I'll let you know so you can all go read it. We have all come to the conclusion that Sam and Amelia are ridiculously cute, even though they don't end up together. That doesn't mean they can't have fun, right? (sticks tongue out)

Okay, so I'll shut up now and go write some more before I trek down the hill to class, m'kay?

**Next Chapter: Necromancer.**


	7. Chapter Seven: Necromancer

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
**Chapter Seven: Necromancer.

* * *

After their startling discovery stating that necromancers may just in fact be real, Sam and Amelia hit the books and their laptops hard, looking for any sign of the man Sam had spotted in the newspaper photos from the previous murders. Asher and Dean remained seated close to the window, one cleaning her weapons and the other staring out the window so intently, it was almost as if zombies would pop up because he expected them too. The motel room was silent except for the soft noise of Amelia's music drifting out from behind her headphones and the clinking of metal as Asher moved weapon parts about, but it was a rather companionable silence, and the four hunters found themselves all oddly comfortable around each other. Not that you could get any of them to admit it though.

As the werewolf lifted the barrel of her shotgun so she could peer through it, Dean shifted in his chair so he could look down at her with a serious look in his eyes. "What is that look for?" Asher snapped.

Dean shook his head, like he was trying to shake something out of it. "Nothing. I, uh, was just wondering how you got into hunting."

She raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, one corner of her mouth came with it. "No, what you were wondering is how I became a werewolf, but you didn't know how to ask that question, or you weren't sure if that was rude, so you asked an easier question." Asher set the shotgun barrel down and leaned back against the wall. She turned her bright blue eyes up to Dean and flicked some of her black hair from her face, the small half-smile still on her lips. "My parents ignored me when I was little. I don't think they were very interested in having a child, so they neglected me and let me take care of myself. We lived in a big house outside of a small city in Michigan and I used to go for walks in the forest at night." She paused to take a breath, and found Dean staring at her, listening as if her words were really that interesting. Ignoring his rapt attention, she continued. "One night I found Austin's house. He was just leaving for a hunt, and packing salt in his truck. I asked him why he needed so much salt and he asked me if I believed in ghosts. I, of course, said no, and he drove off."

"Where does Amelia come into this?" Dean asked.

"I'm getting there. You wanted the story; be patient." Asher smiled briefly at him. "I went back to Austin's every night, and two weeks after that first night, he came back. It was the middle of winter and I was freezing, so he brought me inside. I wandered around, staring at all his hunting stuff while he made me tea. There was a curse-box on the floor by the fireplace, and I almost opened it. When Austin yelled at me, I asked him why it was so bad. It was just a box, after all." Asher laughed a bit, her eyes taking on a far-off look; she was back in that living room, remembering those first days with Austin, with the man who had raised her. "Instead of answering me, he asked me again if I believed in ghosts. I said no. Then he asked me if I wanted to believe in ghosts. I said yes." Abruptly, Asher snapped back into herself and stared up at Dean. "He told me everything then."

"And what? You ran away and joined the circus?"

"Pretty much. I was eight, and knew that my parents didn't care. They didn't even notice I'd been leaving the house every night for two weeks. I told them I was going to be spending some time with Austin, and they just told me to have fun. At eight I was independent and I knew the life I wanted was with Austin." She sighed, but didn't take her eyes from Dean's face; sympathy flashed over his eyes. "When I was twelve, I got adoption papers that my parents signed and changed my name to Asher Smith. On the way back to Austin's with the last bit of my things, I found Amelia, walking down the middle of the road, covered in blood. I took her with me and Austin took her in as well."

"And he just trained you? Like that? You _asked _for this life?" Dean seemed flabbergasted by that concept.

"Yes, I did."

"Why would you give up a family to go chase the boogie man?"

"It wasn't a family, Dean. I didn't have a family. I didn't have anything to lose by leaving them. I could only gain something, and I did. Austin and Amelia became my family. They are my family."

Dean was silent for a few minutes, and they stared at each other intently. The headstrong hunter came to some internal conclusion and leaned back in his chair. "You said you changed your name?" he asked. "What was it before?"

"Marie Green."

"Oh, that doesn't suit you at all."

"Well, I wasn't always a bitch."

"I have a hard time picturing that."

Asher smiled. She put her head back against the wall with a soft thud and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Now, do you want to know how I became a werewolf?" she asked.

"Why are you so up to sharing tonight?"

She sighed. It was a fair question. Asher wasn't exactly the most forthcoming with information, and she was never the first one to volunteer information, but Dean and Sam had been helpful and kind, and while Dean was a pain in the ass most of the time, he had been a good friend. He had made no jokes about her freak out at the morgue, and he hadn't told Sam or Amelia anything about it. He had seemingly stepped beyond the fact that she was a werewolf and they were working together well. She thought he deserved something. She knew things about his past, so it seemed only fair that he knew about hers. Instead of saying all that though, Asher just shrugged. "Do you want to know or not?"

"Yeah, I want to know."

"A few years ago, after Austin had died, we were in California on a hunt. We knew it was a werewolf, we even knew who he was. We were just trying to find him. We followed him into a forest and found him lying on the ground. We thought he was dead. Amelia went forward first. I saw the guy twitch and I pushed her out of the way. He bit me. I collapsed and Amelia emptied her three guns into his head and chest and then she just stared at me, lying there on the ground, writhing as the venom made its way through my body."

"She didn't know what to do," Dean breathed.

Asher nodded. "Austin was dead, and we had no one to call. No one we trusted anyway."

"Everyone would have just told her to shoot you."

She nodded again. "When she'd gotten over her shock, she got me back to the truck and cleaned and stitched the bite before going back and burying the body. We stayed in a motel for a week while I recovered. Two weeks later, I changed for the first time, got away from Amelia and killed a man. She almost shot me when she was trying to stop me…"

"Asher… I'm sorry."

The werewolf waved off the apology. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm alive and I haven't killed anyone else who wasn't a supernatural baddie, and I'm dealing with the disease or whatever you want to call it."

They stared at each other again, small grins playing across their lips. "You're good," Dean said, leaning forward in his chair.

Asher pushed herself off the way and leaned towards Dean, tilting her face upward ever so slightly. "Yeah, I'm good..."

"I found something!" Amelia suddenly yelled from the bed, her outburst causing Asher and Dean to all but leap back from each other.

As the older woman climbed to her feet and hurried over to the bed, she felt heat rush into her cheeks and willed it away. Sam caught the blush however, but did nothing beyond give her a small smirk. Asher dropped onto the bed and leaned over her sister's shoulder, focusing harder than was necessary on the computer screen in front of them. "What 'cha got?" she asked, her voice higher than normal.

Amelia gave her a sideways glance, but said, "A year ago they found a man, dead in his house with his arms and legs torn off. There were three other bodies around him, all at a seriously advanced stage of decomposition." She looked up at Sam, and then back down at the computer. "I think those bodies were zombies, and I think they tore him apart."

"And I found this," Sam said, shoving another book into Asher's arms.

She peered down at the page, finding a tiny paragraph which had been circled with a black pen. "Uh… Oh. 'Necromancers,'" she read, "'were thought to be extinct, but it was recently found that the talent is passed through families. Their abilities to raise and control the dead do not manifest until puberty.'" Her blue eyes quickly scanned over the rest of the paragraph before she looked up. "Did this dead guy have a son or daughter or something?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "The dad's name was Paul Hammermill. His son's name is Stanley."

"How old is he?" Dean asked.

Asher jumped because the elder Winchester was right behind her. She turned her head a fraction to the right and jumped again. "Get out of my personal space, asshat."

He grinned, but he backed up. "How old would the son be?" he asked again.

Amelia consulted her laptop. "Eighteen."

"Could that have been the guy we drove past?"

"I don't know," Asher snapped. "I didn't get a good look at him as we were driving past his shadowy niche in the trees." Dean looked at her for a moment. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. I suppose it could have been the guy."

"Okay. Good. Now, does anyone actually know how to kill a Necromancer?"

Amelia huffed loudly. "Does this mean more research? Don't I get to sleep at all tonight?"

"Of course not. We've got to know what exactly we're up against before we try and hunt this guy down. We need an address or something. We've got to find this guy."

"It's not like there are a hell of a lot of people in this town," Asher said. "He should be easy to find."

"Whatever." Amelia groaned and pulled her laptop onto her crossed legs. "Let's just get at this again before I collapse. Ash, can you clean my guns for me? The last thing I need is them locking up on me."

"Sure." Asher climbed off the bed and wound her way around Dean to grab her sister's bag. It clinked with several metallic sounds as she crossed the room and plunked back down where she had been before. She pulled out Amelia's favourite handgun and began dismantling it, her hands moving quickly and like she'd taken a gun apart a million times. Which she probably had. Dean dropped to the floor beside her and picked up the barrel of Asher's own shotgun. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"This is a nice gun."

"Thanks. I'm quite fond of it."

"You and Amelia are talented hunters."

"You haven't seen us hunt anything."

"I called one of our hunter friends and asked him if he knew anything about you two."

"Who did you call?"

"Bobby Singer."

Something passed over Asher's face. "You guys know Bobby?"

"Yeah. He's good friends with our Dad."

"He and Austin were pretty close too. We… haven't been to see him in a while."

"Neither have Sam and me."

For the second time that night, Dean and Asher shared a look. Eventually Asher turned her attention back to the gun in her hands. "What did he say about us?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Well… He said he thought Austin was crazy for taking you and Amelia in, but apparently every hunter around thought that. He also said he thought you were two of the best hunters he's seen in a long time. Aside from Sam and myself, of course," he added with a grin.

"Of course."

"He said that the last time he hunted with you guys and Austin, you tackled a demon into a Devil's Trap."

Asher paused in her cleaning, her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to remember. "Oh yeah. Amelia was trying to lure it into the trap, but it was taking a really long time, so I gave the demon a little push," she said, a strangely beast-like grin spreading across her face. "Nearly got myself killed."

"Huh, well, that couldn't have been anymore dangerous than dropping out of a tree onto a demon."

She shrugged.

"I take it becoming a werewolf didn't do anything to convince you tackling demons is a bad idea?"

"It takes a lot to hurt me now, so I might as well use it to my advantage. Besides, the demons never expect you to tackle them, so it usually works." She flashed Dean a small, genuine smile and he laughed.

"Hey Chatty Cathys over there," Amelia called. "It says here that iron is the only way to kill a necromancer. The metal is supposed to disrupt their powers or something. Do we still have those iron bullets, Ash?"

"Yeah. In the truck."

"Great. It's going to take forever to find them."

"Just calm down. I know where they are."

Dean rose an eyebrow. "Why is it going to take so long to find some bullets in your truck? How messy is it?"

"It's not messy," Asher said. "It's just very full." She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed one of her handguns. "Come on Dean. I need someone to cover my back while I dig, anyway." She slipped the gun into the back of her pyjama pants, grabbed her keys and slipped her feet into her loosely tied boots. "Are you coming?" she asked as she approached the door.

"Yeah."

Dean stood behind Asher as she opened the door and peered out into the night. The parking lot was lit by a few pools of light, but darkness pushed on the edges of the yellowish glow. It was still; there was no wind or movement. After scanning the parking lot for any signs of shambling corpses or creepy men standing in the shadows, Asher crossed the space between the door and her truck and unlocked the driver-side door. She reached under the seat and did something that made a hydraulic hiss fill the air. Startled, Dean tried to find the source of the noise, but the massive black pickup looked exactly the same as it had a moment ago. Asher leapt gracefully into the bed and crouched. She pressed a section of the floor, and, with another hydraulic hiss, it rose, exposing a cornucopia of ammo.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed.

She just smiled and peered at the labels on the small cardboard boxes. "Damn it," she cursed. She closed the ammunition storage space and turned around. With another press on the floor, another section opened up. There were more boxes of ammo as well as what looked like a pile of throwing knives.

"Who uses those?" Dean asked.

"Me. Amelia's got lousy aim." Asher pulled out two boxes of ammo and put them in the pockets of her pyjama pants.

"So how many weapons do you have hidden in this thing?"

Asher looked at him for a second, unsure whether or not to tell him. After a second, she sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to show you…" She closed the section with the throwing knives. "Aside from those two sections, there's this one." She paused to open a larger section at the back, which displayed a selection of knives and swords. "And this one." The bottom came out of the built-in tool box, and there were several honest-to-God medieval style flails. "The salt, gasoline and holy water are in the other tool box." Asher hopped out of the truck, the ammo clinking in her pockets. "There is a spare knife and gun in each of the rear wheel wells, and in the back seat…" She opened the back door, did something to the seat and pulled the bottom of it open. The padding had been hollowed out to fit two full-size shotguns. When the seat was closed, there wasn't even any sign of them.

"Is that all?" Dean asked, clearly surprised by the arsenal the girls were carrying around.

"Aside from silver knives under the seats, salt in the glove compartment and two more handguns in the centre console… Yeah."

"How the fuck did you afford all this?"

"Well, most of the weapons belonged to Austin before me and Amelia, and he had a stockpile of ammunition at the house. There's still quite a lot there. But, with the money Amelia and I get from writing and taking pictures, we could buy the ammo we need."

"You guys are crazy."

"So are you."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

I still can't find my muse… He's probably on a beach somewhere in the recesses of my imagination with my other muses. Huh, I wish I could go to the beach somewhere. In case you're wondering, my Supernatural muse is Dean and/or Sam. It rotates, depending on who's looking the most scrumptious in a particular episode. Usually it's Dean though. A bloody Dean. Or a shirtless Dean. Yeah, I'm that sad. Sometimes.

Anyways, in this particular book of my story, there are three chapters left. Each book is going to have ten chapters, by the way. I thought that was a good number of chapters. Not only does it allow me enough time to get a good storyline out, but I can also keep the same pacing as an episode of Supernatural, and feed my obsession with the number five and multiples there of. Woo!

Anyways, I hope everyone who's reading this is enjoying it, even if you aren't reviewing to tell me as such. Why aren't you reviewing? It only takes a second. Ah yes, I am now whoring for reviews. (sigh)

OH WAIT! There's my muse! (runs after him)

**Next Chapter: The Hunt is On.**


	8. Chapter Eight: The Hunt is On

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
**Chapter Eight: The Hunt is On.

* * *

The rest of the night passed without incident.

Well, no incident beyond Amelia finally finding an address for Stanley Hammermill. Once they were in possession of said address, they deemed their work done for the day, er… morning. Asher and Amelia cleaned off the bed in order to get a few hours of sleep and Sam and Dean sprawled over the couch and chair to do the same. Dean remained close to the door, so he'd wake up if someone or something tried to break into their hotel room. Not that he'd get much sleep with his neck bent backwards at the odd angle it was, but that didn't prevent him from trying. At one point, he was startled awake by a loud thud that turned out to be Asher falling out of bed. She didn't even wake up. Dean smiled to himself as she groaned, rolled over and fell back asleep, lying half under the bed.

Around six o'clock, after three or four hours of sleep, Dean went about the task of waking the other inhabitants of the hotel room up. Sam woke and seamlessly moved into getting his things together, just like he always did. Amelia groaned and complained and whined the whole time, but got her shit together quickly. Asher, on the other hand, smacked her head off the bottom of the bed, cursed Dean for being born, kicked him in the shin and then crawled out from under the bed and got dressed.

"Do you always fall off the bed?" he asked once she was dressed but before she was armed.

Asher gave him a cold look. Her blue eyes were paler than they usually wore. "Sometimes," she snapped.

"What's with your eyes?"

Asher turned to Amelia, who peered into her friend's eyes like she was studying her very closely. "Pale. You must have been dreaming again."

"Dreaming?" Sam asked, jumping into the conversation.

The werewolf hunter sighed. "Somehow, I just keep giving up all my biggest secrets to you two, don't I?" She accepted their nods in stride, sighed again and said, "Sometimes, I have these dreams. Where I'm a wolf. And I'm running. Or hunting. Or eating." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "When I have those dreams, I toss and turn and fall off the bed."

The boys were silent for a while. "Huh," Dean finally said. "That's something I've never heard before."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of a conundrum." Asher swung her duffel bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door. "But enough about me. Let's go kick some necromancer ass, shall we?" As she spoke, her eyes bled back to their normal, darker selves.

"That is unnerving as hell," Dean observed as he joined her in the parking lot.

"Shut up." Asher chucked her duffel bag into the bed of the truck before unlocking the doors with a press of a button. It wouldn't do to be chased out of town and have to leave everything lying around the hotel room, would it? That was also the reason they were taking two vehicles to drive around town. Dean didn't want to leave his precious Impala behind. As the boys packed up the car, Asher climbed behind the wheel and started the car. "So, where are we going?" she asked Amelia.

"The far side of town," her sister replied. "Elm Street."

"Why does every town, city and hole in the world have at least one street named after a tree?"

"I don't know. They're easy to remember for the directionally challenged?"

Asher gave Amelia a strange look and then went to staring at the road. Her mind was still with her dream from last night. She'd been running through the woods with a pack of wolves and it had felt good. She had felt free, and that had scared her. Her wolf side wasn't supposed to feel good. She was a murderer when she was a wolf. When she transformed, she was a savage beast who only wanted violence and blood. It wasn't supposed to feel good. She sighed and turned on the radio, loud enough that conversation would be difficult. Amelia gazed sideways at the older woman, but didn't say anything. She'd known Asher long enough to know when to keep her mouth shut.

It took twenty minutes to cross the small town. Elm Street was a short street filled with bright, box-like house in between copious amounts of trees. The houses looked like they had been built between the trees. Stanley Hammermill's house was at the end of the street, sitting on the edge of a ravine and quite far back from the road. It was secluded, and that was good. Amelia turned off the radio as Asher drove to the end of the driveway. Dean parked the Impala behind the truck and the hunters climbed out onto the gravel, boots crunching loudly. Elm Street was very, very quiet.

"This is kind of eerie," Amelia said.

Sam nodded. "The whole street seems kind of empty."

Asher followed Dean to the door. He pulled out a slender leather case from the inside of his jacket and withdrew two small tools before he began to pick the lock. "You know, there are easier ways to do that," Asher said.

"Yeah? Would this easier method leave no trace?"

"Lock-picking leaves marks."

"Not as noticeable as breaking down the door or something."

Asher rolled her eyes. Dean got the door open and the four hunters stepped inside. They were standing in a small kitchen with bright yellow cabinets and off-white linoleum floors. The dining set was made of dark wood. Amelia crossed the kitchen, disappearing into the living room, and Dean exited the kitchen, heading towards the stairs. Sam walked over the fridge. Asher just stood there, with her arms crossed, her bright eyes taking everything in.

"It's really dusty in here," Asher observed.

"There's expired milk in the fridge." Sam took out the carton. "It expired three weeks ago."

Asher moved across the kitchen to the living room. Amelia was digging through a large, L-shaped desk. The dark wood was also covered in dust, and there was a laptop closed on the desk top. "Did you find anything in here?"

"Besides a lot of dust? Nope."

Dean came down the stairs at that moment, a pile of papers in one hand. "Man, this place is a sty," he said. He joined the girls at the desk and dropped the stack of papers, causing a cloud of dust to rise into the air, the motes catching the light and almost sparkling. Dean coughed. "Listings for funeral homes, cemeteries and crematoriums; all places you can find dead bodies."

Asher picked up the top page. "All right, so do we think he's at one of these places?"

"Well," Sam said, entering from the kitchen, "he clearly hasn't been here in a while."

"We should split up and look at these places. There isn't that many in the surrounding area, so we should be able to cover them all before dark." Amelia looked at the faces of her companions. "Sam and I will take the cemeteries; Asher and Dean, you guys take the funeral homes and crematoriums."

Asher nodded and turned to Dean, who said, "We're taking my car."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

Asher sighed and followed Dean out to the parked cars.

Sam turned to Amelia. "What's her problem?"

The girl shrugged. "She likes her truck."

The quieter pair of hunters followed their siblings' path out to the driveway in time to see them driving away, bickering with each other. As Sam climbed into the passenger seat, he asked, "What is _with _them? I mean, I know they don't get along that well, but you'd think they could at least pretend to get along."

"Asher's got a temper and Dean doesn't like that she's a werewolf. They like each other fine, but they have conflicting personalities, so, either they fight or they screw each other's brains out."

"Excuse me?"

Amelia started the truck and backed out of the driveway. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "Nevermind." He sighed and gave Amelia the address of the first cemetery. It was in the middle of town, beside a church. Sam remembered passing it on the drive to Elm. "So, what's it like having a werewolf for a partner?" he asked.

She sighed. "Why do you guys fixate so much on that? What's the big deal?" She sighed again, tightening her hands on the wheel. "You know what? Nevermind. I guess I'm just used to her being a werewolf and you guys have never met a werewolf who's… tame." Amelia looked at Sam for a second before putting her green eyes back on the road. "Asher has always been Asher, and becoming a werewolf didn't do anything except make her a little more irritable and give her… her heightened senses and whatnot. She's a great hunter and a great partner. She just has a disease. There's not cure for lycanthropy, just like there's no cure for cancer. I'm her best friend, her sister, and I'm not going to abandon her for something like that. We risk our lives for each other all the time."

Sam was silent for a long time. Eventually he reached over and placed a hand on Amelia's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "I didn't mean to imply anything, Amelia."

"I know." She leaned into his hand before he took it away. "We've just become so used to each other that I sometimes forget she's a werewolf and that I have to tie her up once a month."

"I can't even imagine how hard it must be for you to do that."

Amelia shook her head. "Let's move on, okay? Did you manage to find out anything else about necromancers?"

"No. There isn't much out there. I think we've got it all."

She nodded. "That's what I was afraid of. Is your gun loaded with those iron bullets?"

"Yeah. Where did you guys get those things? They don't make bullets with an iron content that high anymore. They must be old."

"I'm not really sure where they came from. Asher just dug them up from the basement at Austin's on our last trip home."

"How often do you guys go home?"

"Once every couple months. Mostly for restocking."

Sam gave Amelia a strange look. "This house sounds… interesting."

"It is. It's very full of crap that Austin collected over his life and Asher and I seem to keep adding to it. Every time we go back, we drop off a truck load of stuff," she said. "But there's all sorts of things you wouldn't see anywhere else. Austin built a secret room in the basement where he keeps his curse boxes and things he doesn't want anyone to get a hold of, and the upstairs is full of books and artefacts of protection and there's a separate fridge full of holy water…"

"You miss it," Sam said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I miss it. We're planning on going home as soon as we have a few days."

"It's nice that you guys have a place to go to relax and get away. A place that's still home."

Amelia nodded. "I couldn't imagine not having a home."

"It's hard," Sam said as the truck pulled into the small cemetery.

Once Amelia had parked the truck at the back of the small lot, the pair slid out onto the pavement, Amelia having to nearly jump out of the high cab. They crossed the parking lot and opened the gate, the rusted iron creaking loudly as it moved. There was an old woman standing in front of a headstone with her head bowed and her mouth moving as she spoke to who Amelia assumed was her deceased husband. Sam and her started walking in the opposite direction, heading towards the line of trees and the older headstones. There was no one else around.

"There's nothing weird here. And no one besides that old lady," Amelia said once they reached the gate again.

"Let's check the church and then head to the next place."

"Sounds good. I wonder how Asher and Dean are doing."

Across town, Asher and Dean were doing no better than their siblings. They had spent the entire drive across town arguing about which was better—the Impala or the truck—and upon reaching the conclusion that yes, the Impala was cooler but the truck was more practical for hunting and disposing of bodies, Dean started quizzing Asher about her hunting methods. As they broke into their second funeral home, they were discussing the finer points of covering ones tracks.

"You and Sam have _never _disposed of a body? What if someone found it and was able to trace it back to you?" Asher asked as she used her enhanced strength to break open an office door.

"You know, I could have just picked that."

"It takes too long."

"And for the record, no, we've never disposed of a body, but we've never been caught either, have we?"

"Yet." Asher stepped into the small, cube-like room and looked around. "There's no one in here. And what is with this town? It's like, dead."

"It is Sunday." Dean started down the hall towards the room where they had a few coffins laid out for display. "Small towns don't really do anything on Sunday except church and breakfast."

"What do you know about small towns?"

"Well, I spend a lot of time driving through small towns." Dean started looking around and inside the coffins. "There's no one here, either. Just like the last place. This guy is either nowhere in this city or he's really, really good at hiding from us."

Asher broke open another door just as her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. "Hey Amelia."

_"We found him." _

"Where?"

_"Camped out by a cemetery outside town. It looks like he's been here a while." _

"How do you know it's him?" she asked, as she looked around the larger office.

_"Who the hell else is going to be camped out by a cemetery?"_

"Good point. We'll be there as soon as we can." Amelia gave Asher directions and then the older woman hung up. "Dean, they found him. Let's go."

Dean had to jog to catch up with Asher, who was already moving towards the back door. "How have you and Amelia never been caught?" he asked as they returned to the car. "What with you breaking down doors with your hands and all."

Asher wiggled her gloved fingers in his face. "Wear gloves."

They continued to discuss the finer points of hunting and body disposing and breaking and entering as they followed Amelia's directions. The cemetery ended up being quite large and set back far enough from the road, that the gates were the only things visible from the street. Asher and Dean met up with Amelia and Sam at the very back of the cemetery. As soon as they were out of the car, Asher's hand fell to the butt of her shotgun.

"He's back in those trees," Amelia said, pointing.

Asher nodded. "All right. How are we going to do this?"

"Everyone's got iron bullets right? I say we just go in guns blazing."

"Dean," Sam said, "we can't just shoot the guy. We need to talk to him first."

Amelia nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a better plan."

"Fine," Asher snapped. "Let's just go." She clicked the safety off her handgun and started towards the trees, leaving everyone to follow her at their own pace.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

Apparently I'm on a writing roll.

Which is good as I'm almost done classes for the semester, and I only have one exam, so that means I will have a lot of free time, and I will use that to write lots of epic fanfiction goodness? I will also use that time to write epic amounts of my original story, which will then be shipped off to a certain friend to read. Woo-hoo!

Anyways, I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter of my Supernatural fanfiction, and if things get a little crazy in my writing, please, blame Desert Bus for Hope.

WHY DON'T YOU JUST USE SPACE JUMP?!

It's Desert Bus joke.

Oh wait, a note for all those who noticed the last name difference for Asher in the last chapter! Her last name is legally Michaels. She changed it after Austin died. Her name WAS Asher Smith when Austin was her legal guardian, but after he died, she changed it to Michaels to avoid connections to Austin. I just forgot to put those details in the chapter. Sorry.

**Next Chapter: Skills. **


	9. Chapter Nine: Skills

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
**Chapter Nine: Skills.

* * *

Asher and Amelia hung back as Sam and Dean approached the tent, everyone's guns pointed at the opening of the flimsy shelter. The Winchesters snuck as silently as they could until one was standing on either side of the door. As Sam reached for the zipper, the man inside rolled over, causing Amelia to start, her hands flexing on the grip of her gun. Asher shot her a dangerous glare, telling her to be careful. Dean unzipped the tent, a stray breeze catching the flap and blowing it open, and Sam had a second to see where the guy was lying before he grabbed him around the ankles and hauled him into the open, Dean grabbing the flailing arms as soon as they were in view. Stanley Hammermill screamed wordlessly as the boys pinned him to the ground the best they could. Asher and Amelia stepped forward, fingers on triggers and guns pointed at head and heart respectively.

"There are iron bullets in these guns, Stanley!" Asher barked. "Do you know what iron will do to you?" He kept screaming, but his watery grey eyes found Asher and she saw intelligence and awareness behind them. She kicked him hard in the ribs. "Shut the fuck up!"

"Asher," Amelia hissed.

Asher frowned at her sister—the only evidence of obedience—as she kicked Stanley again. "Start questioning him then," she snapped when the frightened man finally stopped wearing out his lungs.

Sam stared at her for a moment and then looked at Stanley, his face set and projecting his best authoritative expression. "Have you been raising zombies and ordering them to kill people?" he asked. Stanley's eyes remained on Asher, and she saw fear there; he was afraid of the werewolf hunter, and that would either be very good or very bad for the interrogation. "Stop looking at her!" Sam shook the man roughly, drawing those grey eyes to him. "Answer me! Have you been raising zombies and ordering them to kill people?"

The muscles of Stanley's jaw bunched as he pressed his teeth together and then his mouth opened and he started screaming again. Dean slammed his hands harder into the ground at the same moment Sam put more weight on his legs. Asher went to one knee, pressing the mouth of her gun into his temple. Amelia pulled the hammer back on her own handgun, the motion unnecessary with the model of the weapon but the noise was frightening. Stanley's eyes shot towards that noise. Even though she wasn't looking at her sister, Asher knew Amelia's eyes would have narrowed into a glare and her face would have taken on a tight quality, showing that she was ready to snap; when she was provoked, Amelia could be just as angry and vicious as her older sister.

"Stanley, I'm going to ask you one more time," Sam said, his voice calm and measured. "And if you don't answer, I'm going to let them"—he gestured with his head at Asher and Amelia—"have some fun." He fixed his normally friendly eyes on the struggling man and let him see he wasn't kidding. Asher knew he probably wouldn't have done that, but hey, the target of their investigation didn't have to know that. "Have you been raising zombies and ordering them to kill people?"

"NO!" Stanley bellowed.

"Then what are you doing camped out by a cemetery?" Dean asked, his voice harsh.

"If I'm not here or anywhere close to dead people, dead things, then I'll go crazy because I can hear them, hear them talking to me, telling me to set them free, to let them out, and if I don't they latch onto my powers and do it anyway! Like they did when I was little, when the zombies came and killed my father because I was mad… I was mad and they answered my anger… I can't control them! I can't bear it anymore! Voices, voices, voices…" Even though he was held down by Sam and Dean, Stanley tried to curl into a ball and tears started to pour down his cheeks. "Make it stop, please. I don't want o hear their voices anymore…"

Amelia lowered her gun and frowned at her companions in turn. "What is wrong with him?"

Before anyone could answer her however, the ground started to shake. Asher dropped to a crouch to prevent herself from falling over or stumbling, her blue eyes scanning the immediate area for any sign of threat and her heightened hearing looking for noises beyond what her human eyes could see. There was nothing. Nothing, nothing, until a hand broke out of the ground a few metres away. Then another hand. Then a foot.

"Zombies!" Asher yelled, informing anyone who maybe hadn't seen the decaying parts surfacing as she pulled two of the collapsible silver stakes out of the back of her belt.

The first shambling corpse broke through the surface and before anyone could react, Asher leapt forward from her crouch and stabbed the stake through the leathery chest and, using her momentum, pushed the zombie backwards until she could drive the silver into the ground, pinning it to the ground. It wasn't the grave it had risen from, but she had driven the stake in far enough to keep the zombie from getting to its feet again. Her first target taken care of, Asher spun around and, extending the stake in her other hand as she moved, and smacking the side of it into the face of another of the living dead.

"Ash, look out!"

Her eyes went first to Dean, who had yelled the warning in the midst of his own grappling, and then behind her to the large zombie raising a tree branch over his head, ready to attack. Asher dropped and aimed a kick at the thing's knee, her booted foot connecting and sending the rotted joint flying backward. The massive zombie howled in rage as it started to tumble forward, makeshift club raised. Asher dove out of the way, rolling through the underbrush to avoid being crushed, and when she made it back to her feet, she lunged forward and drove the stake through the zombie's shoulder and into the ground, pinning it in place. In her moment of peace, Asher looked towards her fellow hunters.

Amelia was on her knees beside Stanley, trying to get him to send the zombies back, while Sam was standing behind her, grappling with three zombies at once, keeping them from getting to Asher's sister. Dean, who was halfway between Sam and Asher, tackled a zombie as Asher watched, stabbing the female zombie through the stomach before he moved onto his next target.

She absorbed it all in less than a minute, and satisfied that no one needed her help, she leapt from her spot beside the massive, twitching, zombie, and tackled another fiend to the ground before it reached Dean.

"Amelia, get that guy to stop them!" she barked as soon as she was within range of her sister's ears.

"I'm trying! He's just getting more worked up!"

"Well do something! More zombies are coming!" Asher looked out into the trees behind the tent. Thankfully, there was nothing coming at them from that way. The other direction was another story. There were several more of the decaying zombies moving towards them from the cemetery, some moving faster than others, a few even running. "Hurry up Amelia!"

"Nothing is working!"

Asher growled and ran at one of the faster zombies, intercepting it before it could reach Dean. She actually launched herself into the air, wrapped her arms around its shoulders and brought it to the ground, driving her knee into its back, her joint coming through the flesh. She felt something dry and heavy—probably a shrivelled internal organ—slap against her leg, but she ignored it and attempted to tear the monster apart with her hands. Dean staked the thing through its lower half before grabbing Asher's upper arm and pulling her free of the zombie. She pulled another stake from the back of her belt and slammed it through the thing's face.

"How many of those did you bring?" he asked as she straightened.

She flashed him a small grin and turned to face the small hoard still approaching them, allowing him to see the row of small silver bars stuck through the back of her belt. There were at least ten, meaning she had brought close to fifteen with her from the truck.

"A little over-prepared?"

"Always." Asher pulled two more stakes out of her belt and extended them. "Amelia?"

"He won't listen!" she shrieked. "He just keeps screaming!"

As she fended off more members of the living dead, Asher listened. Above the sounds of fighting, there was a high, keening noise that hurt her hyper sensitive ears, and the only reason she hadn't heard it before was her focus on keeping the zombies back. It was a terrible noise, one a dying animal might make. Asher shoved a zombie towards Dean, who staked it to the ground, and then turned and started running to where her sister was still trying vainly to calm the screaming man. When she was a few feet from Sam's position, a zombie wrapped its arms around her legs and dragged her to the ground. Sam jumped to the rescue and Asher scrambled the last few feet and crouched on the other side of Stanley.

"Does he know how to stop them?" she growled.

"All he's saying is 'no, no, no' over and over again!" Amelia shook Stanley again, but he just kept screaming and rocking back and forth in the foetal position he had achieved once the Winchesters had let him go.

"Guys, look out!"

Asher looked up at Sam's voice and climbed over Stanley and her sister to intercept the zombie that had gotten by Sam. It was missing half its head and there was a fist-sized hole through its chest, but it was still moving as fast as it could. The werewolf growled and grabbed the thing by its chest-hole, pulling her hands outward and succeeding—because of the small size of the beast and her slightly enhanced strength in human form—in tearing the top part of the monster off the lower. Bits of rotted flesh smacked against her face, but Asher ignored them, intent on tearing the zombie to shreds. When it was just twitching body parts, she turned back to Stanley and Amelia.

"Is he going to make it stop?" she snarled.

"I think he's pretty much lost it."

"Well whatever you're going to do," Sam said. "Do it fast."

Something in the tone of his voice made Asher turn around and once again look in the direction of the graveyard. There were more zombies coming. A lot more. In addition to the five or six the Winchester brothers were still wrestling with, there were twenty or more zombies making their way through the trees, a wave of snarling and growling and howling drifting through the air before them. Asher only looked at them for a moment. It only took her a second to decide what she was going to do.

Her mind made up, she tossed one of her stakes into the air, catching it again, in a position for stabbing. She took the few steps back to the necromancer and then drove the stake down through his chest, moving with the weapon and putting as much strength behind the blow as she could. There was a sickening crunch as the weapon broke his sternum followed by a wet, squelching noise as it pierced his heart.

"ASHER!" Amelia shrieked.

She didn't acknowledge her sister. She just stared down at his body. Watched him twitch. Watched the life drain away. As she straightened, she wiped the blood off her face. As the necromancer gave his last breath and the zombies started dropping, she turned to face the other hunters.

They just stared back at her, not wanting to believe what they had just seen.

It was Dean who spoke first, as he closed the distance between him and Asher. "What the hell was that?" he asked, voice calm and measured. It only got that way when he was angry or didn't understand something. "What did you just do?"

"I killed him."

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. There was barely a foot of space between them. "Why?"

"He couldn't stop the zombies," she hissed. "He was too freaked out and he wasn't calming down. If we had waited any longer, we would have been overwhelmed. Did you _not _see the horde of zombies coming towards us?" Asher had stepped even closer to Dean as she'd spoken, her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back over her teeth as she growled. "I did what I had to do," she said, her voice more growl than anything else.

"You don't know that he couldn't stop them! Maybe he was just freaked out!"

"We didn't have time to wait for him to calm down, Dean! We would have been dead!" Asher turned from him, took a few steps away and then rounded on him again, her blue eyes flashing with her anger. "And if by some miracle we had survived and Stanley had managed to stop the zombies, we can't afford to have any more civilians die as he learned to control his powers! Where's your common sense, Dean?"

Amelia stepped in front of her sister before she could reach Dean again. "Maybe if you could show a little remorse at killing the guy, Ash. You just look like you enjoyed it too damn much."

Asher huffed and stared down at the shorter woman. "Is that what you are so pissed about?" she asked, looking at Dean. He gave no response, so she turned her attention back to Amelia. "Do you want me to weep and mope around because I had to kill someone I didn't know to save our lives? To save the lives of God knows how many people? Well, you're not going to get that. Yeah, I wish I hadn't had to kill him to save our asses, but that's what we do! How many people have we killed that we didn't really have to?" She looked up at Dean again and then to Sam, who's jaw muscles were bunching repeatedly as he chewed over his thoughts. "You three are in no place to get mad at me for this," she hissed, pointing at Stanley's body with the stake she still had in hand. "No right. I'm not going to apologize." Wrapped her hand around the stake in Stanley's chest and pulled it out with another nasty noise. Asher collapsed the weapon and stuck it back into her belt. "And yeah, I did enjoy it. But what did you expect? I'm just a monster," she whispered as she passed Dean.

The other three hunters watched in silence as she began moving around the small battlefield, gathering up her stakes. After she was finished, Asher headed back to where the truck and Impala were parked and climbed into the cab of her truck, running her hands over the worn leather of the steering wheel for comfort. She could see her companions cleaning up their weapons and shoving Stanley back into his tent. Still fuming, she watched them drag the tent into a more open area and light it on fire.

Asher would stand by her decision. It wouldn't matter how much they bitched at her. She was right to have killed the necromancer, to save their lives and the rest of the people in the town who would otherwise have died. Unbidden, the image of the little girl in the morgue came back and Asher had to close her eyes to get rid of it. Stanley Hammermill wouldn't kill anyone else. Not on purpose and not by accident. She really did feel bad that it had come down to killing the young man, but he had asked them to make the voices stop, and since necromancy was a heredity art and his father was dead, there was no one they knew of to teach him.

She had made the right choice.

As the sun was sinking beneath the trees, Amelia, Sam and Dean made their way back to the cars. Sam and Dean didn't look at her as they headed for the Impala and Amelia just tossed her the keys as she climbed into the passenger seat. Asher started the truck and, without any direction, headed back to the motel. The journey was made in silence, and neither sister felt the temptation to break it. Back at the motel, Asher parked in front of their room and killed the engine, Amelia getting out and grabbing her duffel bag before the noise of the vehicle had quieted. Asher closed her eyes once she was alone and leaned back in the seat.

The passenger door opened and closed. She opened one blue eye and peered sideways at Dean. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I wanted to apologize. You were right."

She opened both eyes and sat forward so she could turn and look at him. "What changed your mind?"

He shrugged absently, not meeting her gaze. Clearly, he didn't like admitting that he was wrong. "Thinking about what you said, I guess. We couldn't let more people die. And we might not have survived waiting."

"I really didn't enjoy killing him."

Dean turned to look at her then, his face blank. "I know."

She levelled the full weight of her gaze on him, and something in her chest tightened. Her eyes burned with unshed tears for a reason she wasn't sure of. The emotion must have showed in her eyes, because Dean gingerly moved closer so he could squeeze her upper arm reassuringly.

"And you're not a monster."

That made Asher smile. "Oh come on. I can believe you admitting you were wrong about Stanley, but admitting you were wrong about me being a monster? Yeah right."

"Well, maybe you're still a monster. Just not the kind I thought you were."

"I guess I can take that."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So Supernatural is back…

(insert spaz here)!!!!!^$!

Needless to say, I'm a little excited. Supernatural is my favourite television show that's still on television, and not only is it awesome, but it inspires me to write. And not just write Supernatural. Write everything.

Anyways, enjoy. I'm off to write more Star Trek.

**Next Chapter: Goodbye… For Now. **


	10. Chapter Ten: Goodbye For Now

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book One: Zombies.  
**Chapter Ten: Goodbye... For Now.

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Asher and Dean sat in the cab of her truck for a long time, until it was true dark and the lights from the motel were the only source of illumination. There was no moon. The stars were somewhat visible, although mostly washed out by the lights from nearby towns. Regardless, it was peaceful. Those unshed tears spilled over at some point and Asher cried silently, her shoulders shaking slightly, but there was no noise. Dean didn't say a thing and it was Asher who broke the stillness, the silence they had been sitting in. She climbed out of the vehicle and slid down to the parking lot, and Dean joined her as she retrieved her duffel bag from the back of the truck.

"You okay?" he asked when she turned around.

She slung the bag onto her back and shrugged. "Yeah... I mean, it's not like I haven't killed anyone before..."

Asher sighed and leaned against her truck, her blue eyes and normally strong face heavy with emotions. As Dean watched, her brow furrowed and her eyes paled, the dark blue almost swirling until they were the colour of the sky on a winter's morning. It only took a second for Dean to realize what was going on, but a second longer in the transformation was too long. A low growl started in Asher's throat and it grew as she looked up at him. Dean grabbed her by the shoulders and stared hard in her eyes.

"Asher," he said, voice firm. She growled at him, struggling against his hands. He tightened his grip and slammed her back into the truck. "Asher!" Dean dug his fingers into her arms hard enough to bruise, even break skin if she wasn't wearing her jacket, and slammed her harder into the fibreglass of her beloved truck. "ASHER!"

She growled again, but she tried to stop it, and the noise that came out was somewhere between a snarl and a cough. "Dean," she groaned as she closed her eyes. Her hands searched until they found his arms and she held on, her fingers almost as tight as his had been a moment ago. "I'm sorry... I don't know what's wrong with me..." She looked up at him again, her eyes back to their normal bright blue, but lacking the accusatory glare they usually held when focused on Dean.

"You're probably just tired."

The werewolf took in the offered smirk with one of her own and then pulled away and headed for the door of their motel room. "Maybe," she said. "Let's get some rest then."

"Hey, I never said I was tired."

Once inside the room, Dean went to check in with Sam and see if they had anywhere else to go in the morning, and Asher immediately went into the bathroom and shut and locked the door, ignoring Amelia's questions. She undressed and started the shower, climbing underneath the water as soon as it was scalding enough to take skin off a normal person. As she was prone to doing, Asher closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, tried to reach that almost meditative state she could sometimes achieve when she was standing under a torrent of water.

There was no such luck this time.

All she could see was Stanley Hammermill's face as she brought the stake down for the kill. It hadn't bothered her at the time, and she didn't feel like she'd done something wrong, so why was this kill eating at her? Why was he any different than the others she had killed in her life as a hunter?

_Because he wasn't evil. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone. _

_He wasn't really the bad guy._

And there was the heart of the problem.

If Stanley's father had been alive, he could have taught his necromancer son how to control his powers, and none of the people—that little girl lying on the table in the morgue—would have had to die. If Stanley had been lucky enough to have better circumstances, he wouldn't have had to die. He wasn't that different than Asher, really. If she had had someone to talk her through her first night as a wolf, maybe that guy wouldn't have died. If she ended up losing control of her powers again, or if Amelia failed to tie her up one of these cycles, and she killed again... Would Amelia be able to stop her? Would Sam? Would Dean?

_This is bothering you because you can see yourself in the same situation, _she told herself.

With a sigh, Asher sat down in the bathtub and brought her knees up to her chest. She placed her chin on her knees and stared at the white tile of the wall in front of her, the hot water slowly cooling as it continued to run over her, plastering her black hair to her shoulders, back, neck and chest.

There was a knock on the door. It brought Asher out of her thoughts.

"Ash?" Amelia called through the wood of the door.

"What?" she asked, perhaps a little more hostile than she meant to.

"I'm coming in." The door open and shut and Amelia was kneeling on the floor beside the tub. "Are you okay? Dean said you were acting weird and you've been in here for almost an hour."

"I fine," she lied. "I just wanted a long shower. I was just about to get out."

Amelia searched her sister's face through the translucent shower curtain and then nodded, her grey eyes full of the worry she wouldn't express. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. We're going to head out early tomorrow."

"You got a lead?"

"No." Amelia handed Asher a fluffy white towel after she'd shut the water off and climbed onto the bathmat. "But I want to get away from here as soon as possible. And as soon as one of us can drive without going into a ditch or something. I'm beat."

Asher wrapped the towel around herself and twisted it until it was tight enough to stay up on its own. "That sounds like a good plan. I'm pretty tired too. Damn it," she said, looking at the counter where her clothes sat in a ball. "I forgot to bring my pyjamas in here. Can you go get them for me?"

Amelia nodded, disappeared and reappeared a moment later, the pile of plaid flannel and cotton that served as Asher's night wear. The younger sister stood by the door as Asher changed and then they walked back into the room together. Hair still wrapped in a small towel, Asher climbed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Amelia was asleep in seconds, the sounds of her even breathing joining Sam's soft snoring from the couch across the room. Dean was sitting at the small table by the window, his sawed off lying across his knees and his eyes turned out the window.

"Do you really think there's any need to keep watch tonight?" she asked, rolling onto her side.

"Is there any need not to?"

"Well, we did kill the zombies and the guy controlling them, so..."

Dean shrugged. "There could be something else out there. Better safe than sorry."

"I suppose. Wake me if there's any danger."

"Will do."

Asher pulled the towel off her head and rolled onto her other side, so her back was to Dean and closed her eyes. Sleep didn't come easily, but eventually she did fall into a restless slumber, images of Stanley's face plaguing what could be passed for dreams. She was the first one up in the morning. Actually, she was the second one up, but she wasn't sure if Dean had ever actually gone to sleep, as he was still sitting in the same chair at the table, and it didn't look like he'd moved at all. Once she had made a pot of coffee, Asher joined him at the table, her own sawed off sitting on the table between them, and for a long time, they just sat in silence like they had in the truck last night, watching the world outside lighten.

"You know, if you don't move, you'll cramp up."

Dean levelled his gaze at her, eyebrow raised. "Feeling better, are we?"

She offered a tight smile. "You and Sam have any leads?"

"No, you?"

"No. But would I tell you if we did?"

"Probably not."

"I think we're heading west though," Asher said, draining her coffee. "It's been a while since we've seen the west coast."

"Huh. We usually wait for a lead to decide which way we're going."

"We go where we want and see if there's anything there, unless we have a lead already."

"Telling all our trade secrets Ash?" Amelia said as she climbed out of bed. "I'm going to pack..." Asher and Dean watched her stumble into the bathroom and back out again, her eyes half-closed and her shoulders slumped. "You'd better pack too, Ash... We're leaving as soon as we're both ready..."

"We should leave soon too, Dean."

The older siblings both turned towards the couch where Sam was just getting up. "I suppose you're right Sammy. I'll start packing. There's coffee if you two want it."

Amelia mumbled something unintelligible and Sam just made for the coffee pot. Clearly, he was a morning person, and that simple fact earned him a glare from Asher as she moved to her side of the bed and fetched her duffel bag to monopolize the bathroom while she changed. When she came back out, dressed in her normal boots, jeans and jacket, the boys had finished packing and Amelia was just pulling her cowboy hat on her head. Sam gave a nod to Asher before heading out to start loading up the Impala. Amelia followed suit, leaving her and Dean alone in the motel room.

"You know," Asher said as Dean shrugged into what she took to be his favourite leather jacket, "you might want to invest in a leather jacket that fits properly."

"It was my dad's," he said simply.

"Oh." Asher turned and looked out the window at Amelia and Sam, who were sitting on the tailgate of the truck, chatting idly as Amelia swung her feet back and forth. She turned around to say goodbye, and found Dean standing quite close to her, a serious look in his eyes. "What?" she snapped, startled by how close he was.

He took a step closer and sighed. "You're not a monster, Asher," he said, voice quiet.

"Did we go over this last night?" The older Winchester rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something else, but Asher cut him off. "Or do you just not want me to be a monster?"

Dean frowned. "I'll admit it is hard for me to wrap my head around you being a werewolf."

Asher gave him another tight smile. "If my major mood swings aren't enough to convince you, stick around and maybe you'll get to see me go all out wolf." She stared at him stubbornly for another moment, before her eyes fell to the floor and she leaned back against the window, the blinds making crinkling plastic noises against her weight. "I doubt you'd be so interested if you were around when I was trying to rip out your eyes."

"Ash..."

She put a hand against his chest to keep him from getting any closer. "Trust me, Dean. I may be the only one who can match your spectacular wit when I'm human, but once a month I turn into something no one wants to be around. Amelia doesn't and you wouldn't either. And don't tell me you would, because I know how people react to me." She looked him in the eye, hand still on his chest. "I turn into a monster, Dean, and if Amelia hadn't thought of those silver chains, she probably would have shot me through the heart with a silver bullet a long time ago."

"I'm sorry I called you a monster."

"Thanks, Dean, but it still comes down to the fact that someday you might have to shoot me through the chest."

"Well let's not worry about that until we have to, okay?" Dean tried to take another step closer to Asher, but she pushed against his chest, her enhanced strength keeping him in place. "Ash."

She dropped her hand and as Dean moved to close the distance, she pushed past him and headed for the door, grabbing her duffel on the way. "Call us if you need anything, okay?" she asked, with her hand on the doorknob.

"You too."

Asher gave Dean another small smile over her shoulder before she walked into the parking lot and tossed her bag in the back. Amelia, getting the message, said goodbye to Sam and they hopped off the tailgate so she could close it. As she was climbing into the passenger side of the truck, Dean came out of the room. Amelia waved and only got a nod in return before his dark eyes went looking for Asher, sitting behind the wheel, but she avoided his gaze and stared instead at the dashboard.

"What is up with you?" Amelia asked when they were on the open road again.

"Nothing."

"Oh really? Then what was with all that tension between you and Dean?"

"Nothing."

"You are _so _lying."

"Whatever you say, Amelia."

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**Author's Note.**

So that's the end of Book One. Hope you all enjoyed it!

I'm still getting used to the feel of the keyboard on my new laptop, so if there are any weird typos or anything, I'm taking this opportunity to blame it on the keyboard. Muwhaha.

I'm going to be working on Ain't No Rest for the Wicked and Chances Are until they're finished now. I'm trying to minimize the amount of fics I'm working on at one time. Four or five is too many for me to write at the level I'm capable of. So Chances Are and Ain't No Rest for the Wicked are next. Woo!

So until next time!

**Next Book: Vampires.  
Next Chapter: Five Months Later. **


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